The miner's wife
by MockingJayFlyingFree
Summary: In an alternate universe in which Katniss was never reaped, she married Gale at the age of 18, as a good Seam girl should. 12 years later, she has two children with him. Peeta Mellark, the lone victor of the 74th Hunger Games, is a failed mentor and a prostitute in the Capitol. What happens when their paths cross for the first time since that fateful incident with the bread?
1. Prologue

_**Please note the following triggers: Drug abuse, alcohol abuse, forced prostitution, non-con. **_

_**Thank you so much, Lbug84, for betaing and giving me valuable feedback! **_

_**Oh, and if you haven't discovered them already, Lbug84 and I are co-writing two stories over on AO3 - "When I Go" and "Absinthe". They won't be posted here because FFN doesn't allow joint authorship, so head over to AO3 to read them! I have the same nick over there as I do here, just search for me (or Lbug84) and you'll find them.**_

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**Prologue**

The rain was pouring down. Peeta Mellark, lone victor of the 74th Hunger Games, looked with disinterest out of the train window. Fall in 12 was dark, and dreary, and wet.

The string of parties he had attended the last three weeks or so in the Capitol had been anything but dark and dreary. They were full of glitter, lights, outrageous clothes, loud music and entertainment that he didn't quite understand. Though after fourteen years, he knew the drill. Drink. Eat. Take that little glass of emetic. Throw up. Eat some more. Suck up to the right people. Laugh at the right places. Flirt, but not too much – except with the client of the night.

So it would seem that the parties were dreary, too. Just dreary in a different way.

The trick to survive was not to drink right before he took the emetic, because if he did, he wouldn't get drunk. He had to give the alcohol time to reach his intestines before he expelled the contents of his stomach. He really needed the alcohol to numb his body, numb his mind. Numb his world. Wigs, glitter, make-up, expensive clothes, mindless conversations about nothing. Oh, he knew how to play them now. The men _and_ the women. He wasn't the most popular victor, but he was close. He knew the prices he commanded weren't far behind Finnick's or Cashmere's.

The drugs helped, too. Thankfully. They worked even better than alcohol to numb his mind. And if his body wouldn't cooperate, if whoever bought him was particularly ugly, particularly boring, or particularly nasty, well... the Capitol had pills for that, too.

He had a couple of months off now, at least until the next Victory tour. Some poor girl from 1 had been the victor of the 88th Annual Hunger Games. She'd been a vicious killer with impressive knife throwing skills, but he felt sorry for her nonetheless. She was pretty. He'd just witnessed her first season "working" in the Capitol. He wondered if she would last in the long run. At least she had Cashmere to help her out.

In January, the Victory Tour would come to 12, and he'd be expected to put on a show at the reception and then the party. Twelve was the last stop before 1, the new victor's home district, and they saved the Capitol for last as always. Peeta had been a mentor 14 times, and not even once had he been even close to getting a tribute out of the arena alive.

Perhaps that was for the best.

The train approached the electric fence, and came to a stop. Peeta poured himself another drink. They'd be there in five minutes. The train passed through the electric fence, and he studied the armed peacekeepers outside of the window because he didn't have anything better to do. He saw their closed faces. They looked wet and miserable.

Haymitch met him at the train station. There was no one else. He guessed he shouldn't be surprised, his family hadn't met him at the train station in years. That was probably for the best, too.

"You didn't even bring an umbrella," Peeta huffed at Haymitch. The old drunk was still ruggedly handsome, but his lifestyle was starting to take its toll. The sclerae of his eyes now had a slight yellow tinge to them. Peeta made a mental note to make some phone calls to the Capitol. If Haymitch died… Peeta shuddered.

If Haymitch died, he'd have no one.

Haymitch was already soaking wet, but by the looks of it, he was so drunk that he didn't care, anyway. He just guffawed at Peeta's umbrella remark.

"How was the Capitol?"

"Same, same." Peeta pulled up the collar of his jacket, but he knew he'd be soaked through by the time they got home, anyway. It was only a ten minute walk, but he wished they'd had cabs in 12, like in the Capitol. Even the Capitol had its perks.

It was getting dark, but he was grateful. He didn't feel like meeting anyone today. They all knew he'd been in the Capitol. They'd also more than likely seen him on TV – in the arms of one socialite after the other. When he first came home as a victor after miraculously surviving the 74th Hunger Games, he'd thought his life would return to normal. It didn't take him long to find out how wrong he was. Not even his own family could handle it – that their son was no longer one of them. He had seen and done things that they could not understand. He found himself somewhere in the gray zone between 12 and the Capitol. Too Capitol for 12. Too 12 for the Capitol.

"There's been an accident in the mines," Haymitch said.

"Oh." Peeta didn't even try to fake an interest in it. There were accidents in the mines all the time. "How many?"

Haymitch shrugged. "Who knows? Right before the winter, too."

Peeta nodded. He knew what Haymitch meant. It was very bad timing for the widows and children to lose their sole provider at this time of the year. He didn't see the point in discussing it, though, so he changed the subject to something more pleasant. "Finnick says hi. He also sent you some liquor from 4."

"Bless him!" Haymitch accepted the bottle Peeta pulled from his pocket and immediately opened it. After taking a few deep gulps himself, he handed the bottle back to Peeta. "Let's go home."

They walked in silence for a few minutes. As they were almost at the end of the Main Street, the only street in 12 with streetlights, they saw a small group of people walking in their direction. Peeta recognized Mr. Halloway, the leader of the mining operations, as well as Cray, the head Peacekeeper of 12. He despised them both. He also knew what it meant.

They were on their way to the mining company's headquarters to give the widows of the miners who had been killed today their last paycheck. The mining company was generous. It was only the 11th, but they would still pay the miners up until the end of the month.

Then the families were on their own.

"Fuck, Haymitch, I don't think I can deal with this tonight," he hissed, but it was too late. There was nowhere else to go, they were forced to pass the small, pathetic group of people. He could already hear the sobbing of the widows and the cries of a baby.

Peeta kept his eyes fixed on the ground. Common courtesy dictated that he had to greet Mr. Halloway and that old fucker Cray, though. He was protected by his victor status, but it was always a good idea not to piss off Cray.

"Mr. Mellark, such a pleasure to see you," Mr. Halloway said with a smile on his face. He was always trying to suck up to 12's biggest celebrity. Well, 12's _only_ celebrity. Peeta muttered something in return, hoping to avoid any further contact with them. He couldn't deal with actual human emotion tonight. He was already longing for another drink.

He gritted his teeth. There were perhaps ten women in the small following, and a disturbingly high number of children. They were all underfed and underdressed, and it seemed like they were all covered in a thin layer of coal dust. Peeta always tried to stay away from the people from the Seam as much as he could. Being around them was a too painful reminder of… something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Something he tried his best not to think about.

Just as he was about to direct his gaze to the safe ground again, he saw her. At the very back of the group.

His eyes met hers for just a split second. She was carrying a baby in a pale orange wrap on her chest. The baby was the one he'd heard crying in the distance. It still was. He couldn't see clearly, but the infant must be very little, perhaps only a few months old.

He'd seen her with a swollen belly months earlier. In early summer. She had looked so beautiful, with flowers in her hair.

The woman held a boy's hand, the boy must've been 4 or 5 years old. Like all the other Seam children, he had that look in his eyes. The look that told him this boy knew what hunger was. He guessed the boy would be even better acquainted with hunger soon enough.

Her cheeks were covered in tears, but unlike the other widows, she didn't make a sound. She swayed slightly, trying to soothe her baby on her chest. Peeta opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it.

Then they had passed the group of women and children. His gaze returned to the dirt on the street. When they were out of earshot, Haymitch asked him: "Who was that?"

"What?"

"The one you looked at."

"Oh. It was Mrs.… Hawthorne."

"Oh." Haymitch paused. "Such a shame. I remember her, I just didn't recognize her with the children and all. It's the Everdeen girl, right?" Peeta nodded. "I used to buy squirrels from her. Long ago, before she married that Hawthorne boy."

"Yeah. Long ago."

The victors returned to their empty, dark homes in the Victors' village. Peeta got one last mouthful of strong District 4 liquor before they parted. He could swear the shit had an aftertaste of seashells, although he didn't even know how that was technically possible. When he arrived home, the house had that stale smell that houses get when no one lives in them. He didn't bother showering or turning on the lights, other than the few he needed to locate the liquor cabinet. He found a bottle of scotch and downed two glasses along with some Capitol pills he had in his pocket.

He went upstairs. The world was starting to become shiny. It _sparkled_. It was familiar. Safe. It guarded him from the darkness.

Soon Peeta Mellark, victor of the 74th Hunger Games, was unconscious in his bed.


	2. A chance meeting

_**I'm posting this chapter before I go on vacation after all, because Lbug84 beta'ed it in zero time! Thank you so much for your help! Not to mention your invaluable feedback on the storyline.**_

_**I'm going to hit the beach tomorrow, and if I can read your reviews while I'm lying on the beach with a drink in my hand, you'll make my day! Okay, so that's wishful thinking - there won't be any alcohol, and I'll be too busy running after my crazy children to relax on the beach. I still intend to have a great time, and I do love reviews!**_

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**A chance meeting**

I look at myself in the mirror.

This won't do.

With shaking fingers, I unbraid my hair, allowing my long, black hair to fall freely over my shoulders. It makes me look younger, and I'll need that tonight. It also makes me look different. It's almost as if it turns me into someone else.

I'll need that, too.

I go to the kitchen and find the sharpest knife we've got. The one Gale used to gut rabbits with, years ago, before the electric fence was on day and night. I go back to the bathroom, and over the sink, I cut myself. The knife is so sharp, it slices through the soft skin of my inner forearm easily. It hardly hurts at all. Gale always kept his knives in pristine condition, and I haven't used this particular one since before he died.

The blood drips into the sink. It creates intricate patterns, mingling with drops of water that still remain from before, when I washed the coal dust off my face. I stare at it, hypnotized, for a few seconds. Then I snap out of it, and catch the drops of blood with the index finger of my other hand. I spread the blood over my cheeks, thinly, creating the illusion of a blush in them. I create the illusion of good health and actual life. Then I do the same with my lips.

It's better. I still look pale and drawn, but at least it's… better.

I go back into the living room, where my mother is waiting. Ivy is sleeping on her chest. It's taken forever to put her to sleep. I hardly have any milk left for her, and neither does Prim's goat. We are both starving. We are all starving.

My mother looks up and meets my eyes. "Katniss…" Her voice is pleading.

I shake my head. "Don't."

There are tears in her eyes. "Please…"

I walk over to her, crouching down next to her so I can look straight at Ivy's sleeping face. Her arm is stretched out, her hand resting on my mother's neck. It should be nice and chubby. It isn't. "That's why," I whisper to her, stroking my daughter's hand. Very carefully. I don't want to wake her now that she has finally fallen asleep. But, I need to gather courage. I need to remember _why_.

I don't look back. I put on my winter boots. I should've bought new ones two winters ago, but Arrow needed a coat and we couldn't afford both. I wrap my upper body in a large woolen shawl and venture out into the snow. The biting cold nearly takes my breath away. The wind is the worst, though. It blows right through the shawl, and within minutes, I'm shivering. I walk faster to try to keep warm. I can't be late.

Cray has been interested in me for years. Ever since I was 14 or 15. I was oblivious to it at first, but Gale pointed it out to me. He told me to be careful. It would break his heart to know what I'm doing. But what choice do I have?

I'll have to compete for his attention tonight, and I'll be competing against girls who are younger and prettier than me.

I feel a wave of nausea.

I think about the children. Ivy, with her rail thin arms and thighs. Arrow, with his gray, knowing eyes, far too large in his little face. The final paycheck from the mines didn't last long. Mother, Prim and Hazelle have tried to help, but they are starving, too. I'm not the only one whose children's lives are on the line. The electricity on the fence is on 24 hours a day now and it has been for years, so I can't hunt. There are no jobs to be found. I've tried everywhere. But who wants to employ a Seam widow with a baby at her breast, who has no real skillset in life, except archery?

No one. That's who.

Despite the cold, I find myself slowing down as I approach his house. I've never been with anyone but Gale. I never wanted to, and I never thought I would. And now… I swallow. I know I'll have to leave Cray wanting more. I have to make him want me again, and again, and again. How am I supposed to manage that?

I need to buy some goat's milk for Ivy. I know the Graysons' goat is still lactating. I've seen babies die from starvation before, too many times. They've died on my mother's kitchen table, with their crying mothers by their side. Mothers who looked just like me: Dark-haired, olive-skinned, far too thin, and far too desperate. I'm not going to be one of them, though. I won't watch my children die.

My teeth are chattering. It's started to snow again, and it's difficult to walk. My boots are leaking and I can barely feel my toes. It doesn't matter though. I'm almost there. Perhaps it's best if I can't really feel my body anyway.

I turn around a corner, and gasp as I bump into someone. "I'm sorry," I mutter, automatically. The road is icy and the figure I bumped into has fallen. I reach out my hand to help whoever it is up on his feet. It's only then do I see that it's none other than Haymitch Abernathy, the Victor. I wonder what he's doing out at this time of the night.

He seems to think the same of me. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Mrs… Hawthorne, is it?" He's slurring. He must be dead drunk, as usual. No wonder he fell.

I nod. I'm surprised he knows who I am, not to mention my name.

"Katnissssss…. Katniss Everdeen. Funny how things change, isn't it?" No. No, I don't think it's funny. And I have no idea what he's talking about. I'm eager to get going. I can't be late. But Mr. Abernathy doesn't seem to want to let me go. "I remember when you were a defiant 16-year-old who had enough guts to find out how to singlehandedly feed her family." He must see the surprise in my eyes, because he continues. "Oh yes. I noticed you. And now… Where are you going at this time of the night?"

I open my mouth as if to form words, but I can't think of anything to say. No excuse. He narrows his eyes and reaches out a hand, lifting my chin. Forcing me to look up at him.

"What have you done with your cheeks?"

I take a step back. "Nothing."

"You're going to Cray, aren't you?"

Hearing the name is like getting a punch in the gut. "It's none of your business."

I brush past him. I can't be late. Ivy needs that goat milk so badly. She's been more quiet lately. I know that's a bad sign. When babies still have the energy to cry because they're hungry, they are not in real danger. Yet. It's when they become quiet that you should worry. When they don't have the energy to cry anymore. When they conserve what little energy they have to simply breathe.

She's been too quiet lately.

"Katniss."

I hear his voice behind me. I don't stop. I don't have time to.

I start running, but to my surprise, the old drunk catches up with me. His hand on my shoulder stops me short. "Don't."

He looks down at his hand, and I know what he thinks. He looks worried. He's felt, through the clothes, just how thin I am. What does he know about being hungry? I know he's a Seam boy, but that was thirty years ago? Forty? He's eaten well for decades. Surely he can't remember what it's like to be hungry.

"Don't you judge me," I say. My voice is surprisingly strong. It's like a whip: sharp and hard.

"I don't," he says. "Believe me, I don't. I know courage when I see it."

I frown. He keeps speaking in riddles. Then his hand dips into his pocket, and he takes out a golden coin. My eyes widen. I hate myself, but I can't stop myself from staring at it. "Here. It's yours."

I look up from the coin to his face. I shake my head slowly. "No. I don't accept charity."

"Dammit, Katniss, are you always this stubborn? I said take it. I saw you that day, when your husband had died in the mines. You had two children with you. Are they both still alive?" I nod. "But only barely," he asserts. I don't answer. "Right?" He presses. I nod again. A tear is rolling down my cheek. "Because otherwise you wouldn't be going to Cray to sell your body to him." I nod again, slowly. I can't look at him anymore.

He takes my hand, and presses the coin into it. It feels warm against my ice cold fingers. He closes my fingers around it. "Come with me."

"What?" I don't understand what's going on.

"Come on. We're going to my house."

The coin. It can buy Ivy milk for weeks. And bread for Arrow. Perhaps some meat, too. What does it matter if it's Cray or Haymitch Abernathy? Cray would never pay this much, anyway. I know what his going rate is. He pays more for virgins, but only the first time. And I'm certainly no virgin.

I follow Haymitch through the snow. The Victors' Village is dark and seems almost deserted. No lights are on in any of the windows. I know only two houses are inhabited, but still. The place seems almost dead.

"Come inside," he says, and I obey. My body is shaking now. Both from the cold and from fear.

The house is a pigsty. I breathe slowly through my mouth to try to keep the stench at a bearable level, and I'm starting to wonder if perhaps Cray would've been the preferred option, after all.

"Do you want a drink?" I'm startled by his question, but I accept his glass. It doesn't seem clean, but I guess – or hope - the alcohol will disinfect it. Some liquid courage is perhaps a good thing tonight. I had no idea Haymitch Abernathy buys sexual favors. I've never heard any rumors of it around town. But I suppose there's a first time for everything.

He's standing with his back towards me, looking out the window at the snow as he empties his glass. With shaking fingers, I begin to unbutton my dress. Better to get this over with. I put the coin, the ticket to a few more weeks of survival for my children, in the pocket of my dress, like it's a precious jewel. Then I let the dress fall to the ground, and I stand naked and exposed in his kitchen. I didn't put on any underwear since I've heard Cray isn't very careful with underwear, and I don't have any to spare.

"Mr Abernathy," I whisper, and he turns around. His eyes widen when he sees me, and instinctively my arms go up to cover my breasts.

"What the…?" His gaze travels up and down my body, and his eyes go dark. "Put your clothes on." I look questioningly at him, close to tears. Tears from humiliation, and from fear. Was my body not good enough for him? I know I'm thin. So thin I stopped looking at my own body in the mirror months ago." Put your clothes on!" He repeats, his voice angry. With trembling fingers, I comply.

"I didn't… I didn't want _that_," he says. Then he stops. "When was the last time you had a proper meal?"

"What?" It seems like that's the only word I'm able to say in his presence. I feel like an idiot.

Haymitch mutters something under his breath. He rummages through the kitchen drawers and cupboards. The kitchen is a mess, but he does manage to locate food here and there. The first thing he hands me is a loaf of bread.

"Here. Eat this. I'll look for more." I bring the loaf of bread up to my nose. It smells fresh. It must've been baked today. My mouth waters. "I got it from the Mellark's bakery today. I don't stock up on fresh bread often, so you're in luck. Go ahead, eat it.

I shake my head. "I can't."

"I'll send some more bread home with you to your children. Don't worry." It's scary how he immediately understands why I can't eat the bread. He seems to understand how I think. Perhaps he remembers what it's like to be from the Seam and hungry, after all.

I force myself to eat slowly, because I know it's been too long since I've had anything in my stomach. If I eat too quickly, it will all come up again. I chew slowly, so slowly, taking tiny bites. Haymitch gives me a glass of milk, and I look helplessly at it. "There's more where that came from."

I almost vomit when I feel the milk run down my throat, but I manage to keep it down. I know I can't waste precious calories. I think of little Ivy at home. Her thin arms.

"If I'd known it was this bad, I'd…" Haymitch starts to say, but then he stops himself. Then he'd do what? He must know how many starving Seam families there are. He must. People starve to death every winter, and he has never done anything to help anyone. Why would he?

"It's not charity," he says. "You said you don't accept charity, and it's not. I have a job for you."

I look up from my bread.

"It's not for me, it's for the boy."

"The boy?"

"Peeta Mellark. The Victor. You know him, right?" I nod. Of course I do. He's hardly a boy anymore.

"He needs someone to cook and clean for him. I'm worried about him. His house is a mess. It never was before, but it is now." I can't help taking a stolen look at his kitchen, and he doesn't miss it. "It's too late to save me, sweetheart," he says with a smirk. "But the boy… He's still salvageable. Maybe." He mutters something unintelligible under his breath.

"I'm sorry?"

"Huh?"

"I couldn't hear what you said. I'm sorry."

"I said he's stopped baking. The boy has stopped baking." I don't really know what it means, but I can tell from the look on his face that Haymitch finds this very disturbing.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask him.

"I want you to be his housekeeper. Keep him fed, clean his filthy house, do his laundry. You can take your children to live there, too."

"Live there?"

"He's got plenty of space, sweetheart. I bet your children would appreciate living in a warm house."

"Does Mr Mellark know about this _arrangement_?" It's a stupid question. How could he?

Haymitch shakes his head. "Leave that to me." He packs food into two bags: Milk, some more bread, canned fruit, and canned meat. It's more food than I've seen in months. There are even some bananas. I've never seen real, fresh bananas before. "Here, take this. It should get you through the weekend. Come back here on Monday at noon. Pack the children and whatever clothes and other things you need. I'll take care of the rest."

Stunned, I leave his house. I'm carrying the bags of food and wearing a new winter jacket. It's far too big for me. It must have been made for Mr. Abernathy, but he insisted.

When I arrive home it's late, but my mother is still awake. So is Ivy. She doesn't cry. I put the bags down and take my daughter from my mother's arms. I hold her close, pressing her to my chest.

"Katniss…" My mother whispers.

I shake my head. "Warm the milk on the stove. Quickly." I motion to the bags on the floor.

"Milk?" She frowns. "I don't understand."

But she does as I ask. I mash a banana with a fork and take some of it on my finger, putting it into Ivy's little mouth. She makes a face at the new taste, but sucks eagerly on my finger. When she learns that it's food, she opens her little mouth for my finger immediately. She doesn't hesitate when I return it to her mouth with more banana on it. When the milk has been warmed up to body temperature, my mother gives me the bottle. "Don't give her too much right away," she cautions. She goes through the bags, with wide eyes. "Where did you get this?" my mother asks. She looks confused. I can't blame her. No one leaves Cray's house with food. They leave with a copper coin and bruises.

"Haymitch Abernathy," I whisper.

"Haymitch… Abernathy?"

I nod. "I think… I think I've got a job." The sight of Ivy's little face, her fingers curling around the bottle as she sucks eagerly, brings tears to my eyes. As my milk supply has dwindled, not being able to feed my baby has been haunting me, day and night. "Go and wake up Arrow," I tell her. "He went to bed hungry." He's gone to bed hungry for months.

My mother soon comes back with Arrow in her arms. He complains, confused and dazed from being woken up, but when he sees the bread, his eyes widen and a smile slowly spreads across his lips.

When we fall asleep that night, it's with full bellies. Ivy lies on top of my chest, and Arrow has his nose pressed against my arm.


	3. The deal

_**While I've been lazing on the beach (well, running after my crazy kids), two lovely ladies have been hard at work. Lbug84 has beta'ed and even ghostwritten parts of this chapter, and chelzie has beta'ed, too. Without them, who knows when you would've gotten to read this chapter. Certainly not today. Thank you so much, both of you!**_

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**The deal**

I nervously knock on the door. It's ten to twelve. I didn't dare to be late today. Ivy rests her head on my chest and I stroke her head gently with one hand. My other hand holds an old paper bag, filled to capacity with her belongings. She doesn't have much.

It's a full minute before I finally hear shifting behind the door, followed by footsteps. I'm not surprised to find that Mr. Abernathy opens the door, instead of Mr. Peeta Mellark.

"Katniss, come in." Mr. Abernathy doesn't smile, but at least he doesn't seem dead drunk. His gaze rakes over me once. "Where is your boy?"

"He's at school," I answer hesitantly. "My mother will come here with him, along with the rest of our things, in the afternoon."

"Ah, school." Mr. Abernathy chuckles, as if remembering how carefree childhood _could_ be. "How old is he now?"

"He'll be seven this spring," I tell him.

"Oh." I can tell what he's thinking. Arrow's too small for his age. I'm sure Mr. Abernathy knows why he is, too. He was once an underfed boy himself.

"Come inside. I just had a talk with Peeta."

"Sure..." I idle in the doorway for a moment, unsure of what to do with the bag in my hands. I laugh nervously when Mr. Abernathy takes it from me, and sets it down on the floor, just inside of the foyer. He takes my coat too, and hangs it on a freestanding coat rack as he walks into the living room.

I follow him inside, and my eyes fall on Mr. Mellark. He's sitting on the couch, an angry expression written across his face. I understand immediately how their conversation must've gone. Mr. Mellark gets up from the couch, reluctantly, but doesn't take the initiative to shake my hand or even say hello.

"I don't need anyone to babysit me, Haymitch," he hisses to the other victor. I look between them. With the exception of a few splatters of paint, Mr. Mellark's clothes are clean. The living room is relatively tidy and odorless. I can't help but think that Mr. Abernathy might need babysitting just as much, if not more, than Mr. Mellark. But it's not exactly as though this house is in pristine condition, either. I do see a crumpled up blanket on the couch and a pile of empty bottles against the far wall, beneath an open window. No wonder it doesn't smell of alcohol in here.

Finally, Mr. Mellark looks at me. He takes in my worn clothes, my thin frame, the pale skin of my face, and the skinny baby in my arms. It's as if something changes in his eyes, if only briefly. There's a softening of his features. "It's been a long time, Mrs. Hawthorne."

Yes, it has, although technically, we have never spoken. Our only real interaction was when he once threw me a couple of burned loaves of bread. He probably doesn't even remember that. But he saved my life. It would seem that he has saved my life yet again. Or rather he can, if he accepts Mr. Abernathy's arrangement. "It has, Mr. Mellark. Please, call me Katniss."

"If you'll call me Peeta."

I nod, blushing, even though I don't know why. I'm not sure if it's proper, but I don't question him.

"Okay, I'm not going to lie to you. Haymitch has been pushing me for several hours to accept this arrangement."

Fear surges through me. I was right. He hasn't made up his mind yet. "If it's the children, I can… I can..." My voice trails off. What can I do? Leave them in the Seam to freeze and see them in the evenings? Or would he want me to live here, without them?

He shakes his head. "It's not the children. It's just… Never mind." He looks at Ivy, who has just woken up and is looking around curiously. I fed her just before we left, so she's probably not hungry quite yet. "Hi there, sweetie, what's your name?" I'm surprised by Peeta's sudden change in demeanor, from reluctant and bitter to someone else entirely. Someone who smiles at my child.

I'm even more astonished to see my daughter smile back.

"Her name is Ivy," I say. I don't miss how he looks at her skinny little arm, but he does seem to connect with her, not only judge just how underfed she is. He looks up at me, narrows his eyes as he studies the features of my face, and then back down to her. "She looks like her mama."

"We got one each," I say quietly. My words seem to change something in him. He retracts his hand, and his face seems to close up.

"Okay." He clears his throat as he takes two large steps back. "So I talked this over with Haymitch. What do you say to room and board for you and your children, and two hundred coins a month?"

I'm stunned, all I can do is open and close my mouth, unable to find any words. He wants to feed and shelter me and my children and pay me money? A lot of money, too. More than Gale made, even working 12-hour shifts in the mines.

Peeta misunderstands my lack of response, and keeps speaking. "And we'll send some food for your sister and your mother as well, of course. How does that sound?" All I can do is nod. I'm overwhelmed. "Your responsibilities would be to keep the house clean. You'll cook, do the laundry... and perhaps help Haymitch with his geese from time to time." He looks over at Haymitch with a devilish grin.

"That won't be necessary," Mr. Abernathy objects.

Peeta points a finger at Mr. Abernathy. "Yes, it is most definitely necessary." He turns back to me. "Do we have a deal?"

I finally find my voice back. "Yes." My lips are dry. I really wonder what is going to be wrong about this arrangement, because surely _something_ has to be. This is too good to be true.

"Good. Let me show you your rooms."

"Rooms?"

"They aren't particularly clean. No one goes upstairs," Peeta says apologetically, and I think there is a blush on his cheeks. Is he really ashamed of the state of his house? Has he forgotten that he just hired me to clean it? He leads me up the stairs and shows me two rooms, adjacent from each other. He doesn't exaggerate – they aren't clean. But still, I've never seen rooms this size before. Except maybe in Madge's house, years ago. Before she was killed in the 74th Hunger Games. The same Hunger Games that Peeta won.

"It's okay," I say. "That's why I'm here, isn't it?"

"Um, yes, I suppose that's true," he says. "One room for you, and one for the children. Or perhaps the baby still sleeps with you?"

"Yes, she does." They both do actually, because my mother only had one bedroom to spare after we had to move into her house. "It's perfect." I move over to the window. It's covered with dust. I wipe it with my hand and gaze out onto Victor's Village.

"Good."

And then he leaves. I stand there, stunned, still looking out through the dirty window.

A few hours later, my mother arrives with Arrow and the rest of our belongings, which isn't a lot. It's only one box. I decide to leave most of our things in my mother's house. We won't need cups, plates, or rugs. And our meager, worn items would be out of place in a victor's home anyway. They might even offend our host. The box in my mother's hands mostly contains our clothes, photos, a few toys, my father's plant book and my old school books that Arrow will need soon. When I packed yesterday, I was once again reminded of how little I own.

I've had time to clean Arrow's room. There's a small light in his eyes when he sees it, but at the same time, he's cautious. He's known too much disappointment. But, children are adaptable. He's a Seam boy, and I know from experience that they are resilient. I remind myself that he's his father's son as I watch him take his wooden train out of his backpack. Arrow doesn't have a lot of toys, but the train is by far is favorite, because Gale made it for him. Gale used to take Arrow to the station to see the trains when they came in from the Capitol on Sundays, the only day when he was off work in the mines. Even though I knew Gale hated the Capitol and everything it stood for, he allowed himself that small pleasure, because his son loved looking at the trains.

I sigh in relief. _If Arrow's playing, he will be fine_, I tell myself.

"It's… nice here," my mother says slowly. She looks worried. She knows what my intentions were when I went out that night and came home with news of this arrangement. She must not understand the nature of my being here. "Will you be alright?"

I don't have the chance to answer, because suddenly, Peeta is standing in the doorway, carrying a box in his arms. All of our belongings are already here, so I wonder what it is he's carrying. He looks down at Arrow, playing on the floor. His eyes meet mine for a moment before he approaches my son, and sits down next to him. He opens the box and wordlessly gestures for Arrow to look inside. Arrow looks cautiously at him, but curiosity wins out. When he sees what's inside, his face lights up in a smile. The first real smile I've seen in months, except the one that night, when he first saw the bread. "Toys, Mama!"

"They're from when I was a little boy," he says. I'm surprised any child from 12 had this many toys, an entire box full. He's from the Town, but still.

"A few years ago, my mother packed up all the toys that me and my brothers used to play with and I've been saving them ever since," he explains.

Arrow smiles as he pulls a figure out of the box. It's wooden and there are strings attached to the arms and feet. "What's this?"

"That's a marionette. Want me to show you how to use it?" Peeta asks. Arrow nods his head.

My mother and I watch silently as Peeta expertly makes the puppet walk across the floor, stop in front of Arrow and then wave. The small smile that was beginning to spread across Arrow's lips fades. He looks up at Peeta with his big grey eyes. "Who are you?" Arrow asks. He always looks so serious.

"I'm Peeta. Who are you?" He knows very well who the boy is, but he still asks him.

"I'm Arrow. I'm six and a half years old. How old are you?"

"How old do you think I am?"

"I don't know... You look older than Mama. But not that much."

Peeta smiles. Tiny wrinkles pull at the corners of his eyes. We're the same age, but Arrow's right. Peeta does look older. "It's nice to meet you, Arrow."

"Nice to meet you, too."

That night, after both Ivy and Arrow have finally fallen asleep in new beds that are unknown to them, I sink down and rest on the floor in the kitchen and lean against one of the cupboards. I'm exhausted. Only after Peeta gives me a cup of tea do I remember that I've forgotten to ask him if it's okay that I'm here at night. Or should I retire to my room at some point? But I'm not sure what to say, so I don't say anything. I've never been good at small talk or those phrases of courtesy that seem to come so easily to others.

"He's the spitting image of his father," Peeta says. I'm grateful he's broken the silence.

I look up at him. My lips curl in a proud smile. "Yes, he is. I told you before. We got one each."

"Yeah..." His smile falters again. Is he uncomfortable at my mentioning of Gale? "They're good children." I nod. That's easy to agree with. They are my children, after all. "I can see why you were willing to do _anything_ to save them." I look down, biting my lip. "Yeah, Haymitch told me. Dammit, Katniss… Cray is a violent, twisted son of a bitch." I startle at the tone of his voice. He sounds angry. At me? Peeta huffs out a breath, and rolls his eyes. I don't think he meant to raise his voice to me. But his next words are quieter. "He could've hurt you. _Really_ hurt you."

"Nothing he could've done to me would've hurt as much as seeing my children starve to death." My voice is hollow. He nods, but doesn't answer. He looks into his tea. "Thank you." I blurt out the words without thinking. "I'm still not sure why you are doing this. I know you don't have to. So I just wanted to say… thank you."

He shakes his head. "It's nothing."

His indifference makes me angry. "Nothing? Saving my children's lives is nothing to you? Or do you mean that it's nothing compared to all the other Seam children who are starving to death as we speak?"

He looks up at me with surprise. This time I've startled him. There's worry in his face now, his eyes dart to the walls. He presses a finger to his lips, and my eyes are locked with his. He shakes his head very slightly.

I frown, but then I understand. Be careful what you say. _Someone is listening._

We spend the next ten minutes together in silence, until I've finished my tea. When I go to bed, I'm restless. Hours pass before I'm finally able to fall asleep.


	4. Loss

_**Here it is at last! It took me a while to get this chapter right.**_

_**Thank you to Lbug84 for betaing!**_

* * *

**Loss**

Being able to feed my children, every day, in copious amounts, is overwhelming. My life has revolved around food for so long that thinking about anything else is difficult.

I watch my children change, day by day. Arrow smiles more and he's a lot more active. The rose color returns to his cheeks and he's energetic enough to spend more time playing. Ivy has been hungry all her life, and now she's finally able to put on some real weight. My milk becomes thicker and richer when my own diet improves, though it's not enough. But Ivy's thankfully old enough to eat solid food too, which increases her weight more than my own starved body could on its own. She nurses almost continuously when she's wrapped on my chest, as I work myself through the dirty hole that is Peeta Mellark's home.

It's not as bad as Haymitch's house, and for that I'm grateful. But it seems like there is a decade's worth of dust and grime in many of the rooms. There is only one room I'm not allowed to enter - the one at the end of the corridor, next to Peeta's room. I don't know what he keeps in there. When I asked him if wanted me to clean it, he just said it's not necessary, and that he'll keep the door locked to keep the children out. He spends a lot of time in there, though. Late at night, when he thinks that I'm asleep. Sometimes, he'll spend an entire day in that room and he won't even come out to eat.

His bedroom is a different, less scary kind of isolation. I hear him whimper in there at night. I was embarrassed at first, unsure of what the sounds meant. But then I realized that they were muffled sounds of fear, not pleasure. And that he'd probably be even more mortified if he knew that I'd overheard his... _nightmares_?

At least, I think they're nightmares.

* * *

When we've lived in the Victors' Village for a week, I ask Peeta when I can I give some food to my mother and Prim's family. He looks startled, as if he'd forgotten, but quickly nods. "Take as much as you need." He ordered a generous amount of food after we moved in. Four people eat a lot more than only one, even though one of them is very little.

I look down, chewing on my lip. "Is it okay if I… give Gale's family some extra food as well?" This was not part of our agreement, but I have to ask. Hazelle is my children's grandmother, and she has always tried to help me, even though I did my best to hide from her how bad things were. I knew she had so very little herself. Rory and Vick have helped too, even though they both have hungry and rapidly growing families. I know they are all starving, while we have real butter on the table every night now. Actual yellow, real butter, with a taste so rich I actually had a dream about it one night.

"Um… of course. How many siblings did Gale have?"

"Three. Only his sister Posy still lives at home since she's just 18."

He nods. "Of course. I'll order more food. It's not a problem." He looks down. "I know what it's like to be hungry too, Katniss." I open my mouth to say something, but he continues before I have the chance to. "I know what you're going to say. Starving for 16 days in the Hunger Games isn't the same as starving for half your life, or watching your children starve. I just wanted you to know that I've been hungry, too. Even though I'm from a merchant family, I'm from 12 too."

I smile softly at him, and let his words settle into my mind.

* * *

It's a cool spring morning. Before taking Arrow to school, I stuff a backpack full of foods that are fresh, salt cured meats, butter and pickled vegetables, but that will keep for a little while in the Seam. The children and I are just clearing the threshold of the front door when Peeta puts on his jacket and shoes. "Mind if I take a walk with you?" He asks me.

I shake my head 'no,' but I can't hide my confusion. Peeta pretends not to notice as he takes the backpack from my hands and slings it over his shoulder. It's full and quite heavy for me, but he lifts it as if it's weightless. I suppose he grew up carrying all those heavy flour sacks in the bakery. And I think he used to be on the wrestling team when we were in school.

We walk in silence, while Arrow excitedly tells us about his project at school. It is, unsurprisingly, about coal. Peeta doesn't seem to know that much about coal or mining. I guess because being merchant meant he was pretty certain he'd never have to work down there. Or maybe it's because his education was cut short at 16 years old. He never did return to school after his Games. Either way, Arrow is excited when he can explain things to Peeta that he doesn't know ...or maybe he does know.

I don't know if he's faking. I don't know him well enough to tell.

When Arrow is tired of talking about coal and runs ahead of us to look at some animal tracks crossing the road, Peeta turns to me.

"I talked to my brother Bannock last night. He runs the bakery now. Prim and Hazelle can go to the bakery to get bread, free of charge. But it's best if they come to the back door, and perhaps talk to Bannock in advance. Schedule it or something, so my mother doesn't find out. Does that sound ok?"

"Peeta, that's…" I'm speechless. It takes me a few seconds to be able to respond. "Who's paying for it?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "The Capitol. Through their very generous yearly payments to the Victor of the 74th Hunger Games."

"Is that why you…" My voice trails off. "Are _they_ listening to us here, too?" I look at the road, still covered by snow even though it's spring. I don't know if it's possible that they could be listening in on us here. Is it?

Peeta purses his lips before answering. He speaks slowly and clearly, and I know his words are important. "Snow already knows I'm sending your family food, because we've discussed it in the house."

"President Snow?"

"Yes. He keeps a close eye on Victors."

"I see." I want to ask why... But the words die on my tongue.

"I don't want them to know just _how much_ food we're sending, just to be safe. There shouldn't be a problem. They usually don't care much what I do here in 12, as long as I fulfill my mentoring duties, attend the right parties and… well, in general, do as I'm told. But it never hurts to be careful."

"Should I be careful too, Peeta?" Arrow asks, very serious now. He's tired of looking at the animal tracks and is now walking with us again. I didn't know he was listening. But, I wonder how much he understands. Probably too much.

I know I'll have to bend the truth, so I don't scare him. But I can't flat-out lie. He needs to learn to keep quiet. "You have nothing to worry about. There are just some things it's better not to talk about. Not at home, and not at school. It's never safe to say anything bad about the Capitol or the things they do. Okay?"

"Daddy used to say bad things about the Capitol."

Our house wasn't bugged. We could say anything we wanted, as long as we did it in the privacy of our home. Those days are over, though. That life is gone. I swallow hard. "Daddy did, Arrow. He said bad things about the Capitol, and he meant them. But you must never repeat what he said. Keep those thoughts and feelings _inside_. The Capitol doesn't like it when people say bad things about them."

"Do people have to go to jail if they say bad things about the Capitol?"

I wonder how he came to that conclusion. "Yes, they can." Or worse. Much worse.

"I won't say anything, mommy. I'll make you proud."

His words feel like a stab in the chest. My child censoring his thoughts and feelings would never make me proud. But I smile softly at him, because he so badly wants my approval.

We're closer to town when Peeta's pace slows. The old and thankfully unused whipping post has just come into view when he stops completely. "I should get home," Peeta says. I wonder if he has any specific plans back home, or if he just doesn't want anyone in town to see us together. "Go by the bakery to get some bread from Bannock. He's expecting you. Oh, and stop by Mr. Hanson's shop on the way, too. He has some stuff for you too." He gives me the backpack, says goodbye to the three of us, and turns back towards the Victors' Village.

I drop off Arrow at school first which is, thankfully, uneventful. He hugs me goodbye, kisses Ivy on the forehead and walks into school with his head held higher than I've ever seen.

I try not to berate myself as I walk to Mr Hanson's shop. It's the closest to the school on the way to the Seam. I haven't been here in months. I stopped going when there was simply no more money to buy food for, and he wouldn't give store credit. Mr. Hanson never gives anyone store credit. He can't. The Seam is full of starving families with little or no money.

There is a tiny bell that rings when someone opens the door. The sound makes my stomach growl, even though I just ate. Mr. Hanson looks up when he sees me, and he smiles. He's never smiled at me before. "Mrs. Hawthorne!" he greets me.

I smile nervously. "Mr. Hanson. It's nice to meet you."

He makes small talk, to my amazement. He never has before. Somehow, working for Peeta Mellark has, in his eyes, transformed me from being another poor Seam housewife to someone he finds it acceptable to have a conversation with.

Something feels odd, though. I don't know if it's the way he looks at me, or his words. He compliments me on my hair and says Ivy, who's sleeping on my chest, is such a "treasure." I try to be polite and say the right things at the right places, but I'm not very good at it. If he notices, he doesn't say anything.

"Mr. Mellark told me to give you this," he says. He gives me a large, heavy paper bag. "He told me to tell you to read the instructions. There's something for the children as well." I smile, wondering just what is in the bag. I don't want to seem too eager, though, so I don't open it in front of him. I politely dodge the rest of the conversation and make my way out of the door before he keeps me there, talking all damn morning.

I go to the Mellark Bakery. It's only four buildings down from Hanson's shop, and also on the way to the Seam. Bannock is behind the counter today, and I smile at him as I enter the shop. I haven't seen him in years, but he recognizes me immediately. "Katniss!" He greets me with a big smile. He has a bag full of bread ready for me. "Peeta told me to give you this."

"Thank you," I answer, desperately twisting my brain for something polite to say, but I can't come up with anything.

"Peeta told me you're his housekeeper now?" I nod. "I have to tell you I was pretty surprised. We haven't seen much of him these last few years. He's been isolating himself in the Victors' Village with Haymitch. Rye and I have been worried about him."

I don't know how to answer that. After living in Peeta's house for a week, I'm starting to see just how lonely Peeta's life in 12 is. Even though he has two brothers who live not ten minutes away. I don't think it's only about Peeta isolating himself from his family. I suspect his brothers haven't exactly reached out to him, either.

But that's not something I'm about to tell someone who's giving me bread for my starving family. Instead, I smile politely and mutter something I hope he can't hear. "Yeah, the house is really dirty."

"We're so glad it's you." I furrow my brow, not understanding. _We_? Who are "_we_"? And why would _they_ be glad that it's _me_? Bannock must see my confusion, and suddenly he looks nervous. As if he's said too much. He clears his throat, looking down at the floor

"I, uh… I have to go," I finally say, to end the long, uncomfortable silence. "Thank you so much for the bread."

* * *

I go to Prim's house first, but she's not at home. She had twins three years ago, and now they're getting old enough to entertain themselves at least for a little while without being an immediate danger to themselves or others. Prim has started going on patient visits together with my mother again. She brings the twins, and stays until they have a meltdown. It's difficult, but Prim wants to learn, and this is the only way. It's important for 12, too. My mother is the only healer, and she isn't getting any younger. There is a formally trained Capitol doctor as well, but his services are too expensive for all but the wealthier townies and the peacekeepers.

Hazelle is at home, though. She still runs a laundry service for rich merchant families, and Tuesday is her ironing day. I knock on the door, and a moment later she appears, an iron still in hand. "Katniss!" In a second she's embraced me and Ivy. I enter the house. Her kitchen is already scorching hot, from the coal in the irons, as I follow her inside. Gale and I became hunting partners and allies the year I was 12. When we gradually became friends, too, I started frequenting his house. Throughout most of my teenage and adult years, I've been closer to Hazelle than to my own mother.

Hazelle looks thin, pale and worried. The wrinkles around her eyes have become deeper.

"I brought food," I tell her, lowering the backpack on the floor. "Will you divide this between you, Rory and Vick's families? And give some to Prim and mother, too? Prim wasn't at home when I stopped by her house."

"Of course." There are tears in her eyes when she opens the backpack and sees the contents. She takes out a glass jar of pickled beets stare at them incredulously. "Oh, Katniss… Does _he_ know?"

"That I'm giving you food?" She nods. "Yes, of course."

"And he feels your _services_ are worth all of this?" Her voice is hesitant.

"My _services_?" I'm momentarily speechless. Hazelle thinks that my _services_ extend beyond housekeeping. She's my mother-in-law. I'm still wearing the wedding ring her son gave me, the one that was made from gold that was originally her own wedding ring. Before she herself became a widow as her husband died in the same mining accident as my father. What she must have gone through this last week, thinking that her son's widow had… "It's not like that," I tell her, in a rushed voice. "Peeta has so much, and he said that it was okay. He understands that you are my family, too."

She nods her head, and we don't discuss it further. Though I can tell there are still questions unanswered.

While Hazelle sifts through the backpack, I go through the contents of the bags that Mr. Hanson gave me. It's an assortment of raw protein bars, vitamin supplements, some fruit and even small squares of dark chocolate. I haven't had chocolate since my father bought me a bar for my 11th birthday. I plan to share this with Arrow when I pick him up from school. "Peeta said you can get bread from the bakery. Contact Bannock Mellark, and please be discreet."

She gives me another hug. I can feel her shoulders shaking, she must be crying. "You were a daughter to me long before you married Gale." I nod. I know. "How are you? With… everything?"

She releases me, but I take her hand. "I miss him. I miss him, every second of every day." My voice cracks. It's hard to get the words out.

"I do, too." She sounds so tired. Hazelle has aged so much this winter. She lost her eldest son. Even with the fear I've felt for my children's lives since Gale died, I still can't imagine the horror of actually losing a child. "I wish he had a grave. Somewhere I could go."

I hug her again. "Where his body rests doesn't matter," I whisper. "He's here, can't you feel it?" They never got him out. Gale's body will remain in the mountain. I know he hated the mines, and at first, knowing that his body would be trapped in the darkness forever was almost unbearable. But Gale is gone. He's escaped. Only the shell is left in the mountain. And soon that shell will be nothing more than the dust that covers the Seam.

"When it gets warmer, we'll find a nice spot by the river. We'll make it his place, perhaps find a nice stone and put it there? One that's gray, the same shade as his eyes. And we can plant flowers and take the children so they can play in the grass and talk to their father. He loved the woods so much." We spent many long summer evenings down by the river, Gale and I, before Arrow was born.

She nods. "I'd like that."

We stand in silence together for a while. Finally, I release her.

"I have to get back to work," I tell her.

"So do I," she sighs, and I cringe just looking at the mountain of clothes she needs to iron. But it keeps her alive. We all do what we need to do to stay alive.

* * *

As the weeks pass, Peeta and I gradually fall into a routine, which surprisingly becomes comfortable. I bring Arrow to school every day, but it's mainly because I like to get some fresh air. I know he could walk to school safely without me. But there are no other children in Victor's Village that he could walk with.

Ivy is going to learn to crawl soon. She's already slithering on her stomach, crossing the floor surprisingly quickly, and I realize I will soon have quite a lot of work on my hands. She's put on so much weight. This morning, when I changed her diaper, I noticed that she has actual creases on her thighs. She is a natural born charmer, too - a combination of Prim and Gale. I'm sure I'll have a hard time keeping the boys away from her. She's got Peeta wrapped around her little finger in record time, and she knows it. I'm a bit hesitant about having him interact with my children. I'm not sure what's appropriate and I already feel as if we're intruding in his home. But Peeta never seems bothered. Not even when they are both crying at the same time.

Peeta drinks a lot, though. Mostly at night, which is a relief, because it makes it easier for me to protect the children from it. He's never loud or difficult in any way when he's drunk, but he's still _drunk_. When he does drink during the day, I have to come up with excuses, both for Peeta and for Arrow, for why he can't be around the children. It's exhausting.

We never speak of anything that is too personal. Neither of us is very talkative anyway. Yet we somehow are learning to live together. The adjustments he has to make, are bigger. We are three, he is only one. Besides, I'm used to sharing a house with a man. Peeta is used to living alone. His only visitor is Haymitch, who sometimes comes by for breakfast.

We talk about routines, chores, or the weather. He never asks about my past, and I never ask about his. It's a tacit agreement. Gradually, I allow him to spend more time with the children, even unsupervised, if only for a few minutes.

* * *

It's Saturday, and Prim and the twins are here to visit. Even though they are four years younger, Arrow really enjoys playing with them. Peeta isn't at home – I have no idea where he is. He never tells me where he's going, and I never ask, even though I have started asking him when he plans to return home, so that I can have dinner ready. I'm relieved he's not at home now, though, as the boys are running after each other through the living room, and the noise is deafening.

Prim looks tired, but smiles as she sees the boys playing. I know she's under a lot of pressure, with the twins, working with my mother and the constant lack of food. She's holding Ivy on her lap, tickling her feet.

"She looks better already," Prim says. I'm not surprised she noticed. It's her job, after all.

"It's incredible what food can do, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Thank you so much for…" I know what's about to come. I quickly shake my head, sending her a warning glance. She frowns, clearly not understanding.

"Never mind that. It's okay."

She sends me a strange look, but doesn't comment on it. Prim's been in a lot of houses in 12. She's probably learned when to talk, when to shut up, and when to change the subject, which she does. "So… how's the job?"

"It's okay. I mean it's good. It's a bit strange, though. Living in such a big house. And with Peeta-"

"_Peeta_? You call him Peeta?"

"Yeah." I almost blush. "I don't even know him and now I live in his house, with the children and… Well, he certainly needs a housekeeper. This place was a mess." I roll my eyes, trying to lighten the mood.

"I uh… wondered if there was anything _else_ involved in the agreement." She looks uneasy.

I frown. But I could see how she'd think that, considering how I myself misunderstood Haymitch's intentions that first night. It's not a large step to extend that thought to Peeta.

"No, of course not!" I clear my throat. "Is that what everyone thinks?" _Everyone_ didn't really have any strong opinions on my morals as long as I was just another Seam wife. But now that I moved into Victor's Village, suddenly, I'm different from them.

Prim shrugs. "It's not as if _everyone_ tells me what they think about my sister and her living arrangements," she says dryly, and I know she's right. Though if people thought I was sleeping in Peeta's bed, Prim wouldn't be the first to hear it. "Just be careful, okay?" I nod. "I remember him from school," she continues. "He was always so popular, he always looked happy. He had so many friends. He used to smile at me every time he passed me in the hallway, did you know that?" I shake my head. Peeta didn't smile at me. Ever. He'd always look flustered, if he met my gaze at all. Most of the time, he'd only look down at the floor.

"That was a long time ago," I say.

"Yes," she agrees. "He's changed so much. It's hard to imagine that the sour-looking, inebriated victor we see on the street now is the same person as the blond, cheerful school boy."

"He must've been through a lot since then. With the Hunger Games and…"

"Do you think it's just the Hunger Games?" She interrupts me. I furrow my brow, confused. "Because I'm not so sure. I remember what he was like after he had just returned from winning the Games. He did look different from before he was reaped, yes, and that is to be expected, I guess, but… he didn't look the way he does now."

I hadn't thought about that. "Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know." Prim looks down. "I just think there must be something else, something more. Something more than just the Games. What I'm trying to say, is that I want you to be careful, because he's not the happy merchant boy he used to be."

She doesn't say any more, heeding my previous warning. There's an awkward silence. The twins are fighting over something in the living room, and Prim goes to try to break them up. Peeta chooses this exact moment of utter chaos to come home.

"Who's killing whom?" he asks, nodding in the direction of the living room, where the shrieking has reached a maximum, as Prim tries to convince Thomas and Ridge that they can in fact share Arrow's toy train.

"I think it could end up becoming a double murder," I answer, and Peeta actually smiles at me. I rarely see him smile, except at Ivy.

"I have two older brothers," he says. "I know everything about brothers beating the crap out of you."

Prim returns to the kitchen. "Well, in this case the brothers are the same size," she sighs. "I think it helps. Or maybe not."

Peeta smiles to her. "Prim," he says. "It's been a long time. I can't believe you've outgrown your pigtails."

She laughs. "That was, what – 14 years and two children ago?"

Peeta's smile fades.

* * *

I've finally claimed a spot on the couch, after cleaning the dishes from dinner, when Peeta surprises me by breaking our usual silence. He's drinking white liquor, but he seems to keep the amount under control tonight. I'm drinking a cup of tea and reading a book about plants.

"It was nice to see Prim today," he says. "I never get visitors, so it was nice to see… someone else."

"Your brothers don't come to visit you?" I don't ask about his mother.

He shakes his head. "No, we… don't interact much. It's easier that way."

"Easier how?"

"We've… grown apart. Too much has happened. They can't understand what it's like." His eyes are dark.

I put my book down. "I guess no one who hasn't been in the Hunger Games can understand," I say. "I mean, I can say that I do, but…" My voice trails off. "I think it's like any other loss. You can't know what it's like unless you've lived through it yourself."

"I suppose." He pauses. "How do _you_ live with it?"

I don't have to ask him what he means. I hesitate. How do I live with it? The truth is that I don't live with it yet, not truly. "I guess I just go with the motions," I admit. "One day at a time." I try not to think too much. That's the main reason I'm able to get out of bed in the morning at all. I look up at him. "I think you understand. You know about loss." I say softly.

He looks startled. "I… um, yeah. I guess." He looks uncomfortable now. I'm afraid I've gone too far. That we've suddenly become too personal. But it must be true. That look in his eyes… Yes, he has lost someone. I try to think back to his Games. But it was so long ago, the details come back slowly.

His hands don't seem to be able to keep still. They are nervously playing with his now empty glass. I've never seen him like this before.

I've also never noticed his hands before, either. They are large and mostly smooth. His fingertips are calloused, though. That must be from baking. I think I remember him getting a gash on the back of his left hand in the Hunger Games. A fight with one of his supposed allies, if memory serves. But I can't see any scar there now, which is odd. The wound was so big. He flexes his fingers and I can't stop staring. I feel my cheeks burning. I force my gaze up and find that he's watching me watch him from the corner of his eye. I look away.

We don't talk for the rest of the night, and I retire early to bed. For some reason, I'm unable to get the image of his hands out of my head. I wonder what those hands would feel like. If they would feel different from Gale's. Gale's hands were full of scars, too, from the mines and the woods. As I realize what I've just been thinking actually _means_, I feel like the worst person in the world.

I cry myself to sleep.

* * *

When I wake up, there is no sign of Peeta. He doesn't come down for breakfast, like he usually does. I leave a plate on the table as I take Arrow to school, in case Peeta wakes up before I get back.

But on my way home, I'm surprised to meet Peeta in town. Drunk. At 8 in the morning. I wonder where he's been all night, but I force the thought away. It's none of my business. I'm glad Ivy is sleeping – she's only a baby, but I still don't want her to witness this. There are people in the streets, and I can feel their looks and hear their laughter.

"Let's go home, Peeta," I say to him, calmly but firmly, my voice not really giving him any choice in the matter. "Breakfast is waiting for you."

I'm careful to keep a respectable distance between us, even though the road is icy and he could probably need a steadying hand. But too many are watching, and besides, with Ivy on my chest, I have to prioritize staying on my own feet, not saving a drunken Victor from falling.

He doesn't, though.

"What set you off this time?" I ask him when we're on the road to the Victors' Village, finally away from the curious eyes. I've lived long enough in his house now to understand that these binges, much worse than his day-to-day drinking, are set off by something. The first time it was a phone call from his mother, the second it was a mandatory Capitol special about the Hunger Games.

He doesn't answer at first, and I wonder whether he heard me. I open my mouth to repeat my questions when he finally speaks. "Loss."

"Oh."

"Have you ever thought that… life wasn't worth living, Katniss?" His words take me aback. I stop short, and so does he. I look up at him, and his blood-shot eyes are surprisingly clear. They are so incredibly blue, yet they burn with a fire I've never seen in them before.

"No," I answer honestly. I've been too busy struggling to stay alive, for so many years, that I've never considered _not_ living. "I've been too hungry." These are dangerous words, perhaps, but I feel relatively certain we're not being watched here.

"I suppose."

We walk in silence for a few minutes. His shoulders are slumped, and if I had asked him to walk in a straight line, he couldn't have done it to save his life. He looks so old, much older than I've ever seen him.

"Do you remember the bread?" he suddenly asks.

I take a sharp intake of breath. "Yes," I answer. How could I ever forget? "I'm more surprised that you do."

"Why?" I can feel his burning eyes on me, but I keep my own fixed on the road ahead of us.

"Because… To me, it meant the difference between life and death. To you, it was just some loaves of burned bread." I pause. "And a beating from your mother."

I look up at him. He rolls his eyes. "Well, there's been more than a few of those." I shiver. I know it's true. I noticed the bruises and black eyes that Peeta kept coming to school with. Everyone did. He blamed it on wrestling, but none of the other wrestlers ever had that many bruises.

"Did the bread actually save your life? Was it really that bad?"

"Yes," I murmur, my cheeks burning. It still hurts to think about it. My mother's betrayal. How close we all came to dying. It took me years to forgive my mother. And even still, there are days when I have a hard time being around her.

He curses under his breath. "If I'd known it was that bad, I would've…"

I shake my head. "You were a child, Peeta. Don't beat yourself up over it."

"Doesn't excuse being a coward, though."

"What makes you think you're a coward?"

"I watched you wither away at school, but I did nothing. When I saw you under a tree in the rain, barely living, what did I do? I didn't have the decency to invite you in, or even go over to you and give you some loaves of bread. No, instead I burned the bread on purpose and threw it at you, as if you were an animal."

He saved my life, yet he judges himself so harshly. "Peeta… Please don't. I owe you so much already. Don't make it sound like what you did wasn't enough. Because it was, okay? You saved us. You've done it twice now. I'll never stop owing you."

He shakes his head slowly. "No, you don't owe me, Katniss. If anything, it's the other way around."

I have no idea what he's talking about. I want to ask him, even though I'm not sure if I'll actually want to hear his answer. But we're home now, and I don't want to have this conversation when someone is listening.

He stumbles inside, and disappears into the bathroom, where I hear him vomit violently into the toilet. Then he stumbles upstairs. I listen for his footsteps. I'm relieved when I hear the door to his bedroom close and not the door at the end of the corridor.


	5. The baker's son

**_Thank you to Lbug84 for betaing and always keeping me in check - and to chelziebelle for prereading and being my own personal grammar maven!_**

* * *

**The baker's son**

When was the last time I lived in the same house as another human being? It must've been before I was reaped. That was 14 long years ago.

It may as well have been another life.

It's hard to get used to all the sounds. Not that Katniss's children are all that noisy. When I think about the way I used to fight with my brothers when we were little, Arrow is rather quiet by comparison. Although Ivy is only a baby, she really doesn't cry a lot. I was under the impression that babies cry all the time. Maybe because that's what my mother told me I did when I was a baby, I don't know. Either way, having people in the house means that there are a lot more sounds than I'm used to.

I don't speak with Katniss much. I'm not sure what to say to her, or what the safe topics are. The past is tricky, although we _have_ brought it up a couple of times. She's recently lost her husband, so that is obviously a touchy subject, and the two of us never really had a past. Katniss and I never shared anything but a memory of bread, rain, hunger, and a beating from my mother.

The rest of the memories are mine, not hers, because she never noticed me. Like the memory of a five-year-old girl with two braids instead of one, who sang the Valley Song. When she did, I can swear that the birds stopped singing to listen to her. From that moment on, I was a goner.

I remember a tiny Seam girl, the very kind of girl my mother used to view with great suspicion whenever they stepped into the bakery. The girls she would speak disparagingly about as soon as they were out the door. The dark, olive-skinned girls with bony legs and gray or dark brown eyes, freckles on their noses, and delicate cheekbones.

Never in my five years of life had I seen a girl who was as beautiful as Katniss Everdeen. She didn't have a lot of friends, but she would hang out with Madge Undersee at lunch. I thought it was odd that the Mayor's pretty daughter, who could've been friends with anyone, would prefer the company of the poor, quiet Seam girl. I always thought that Madge, too, must have seen that there was something about Katniss. Something special.

I never dared to talk to her. Talking to Seam girls wasn't socially acceptable for good merchant boys like me, who were closely controlled by their mothers. Only later, when we got older, would it be acceptable (although still not to their mothers) to take the Seam girls to the slag heap to fuck them. I'd never do that to Katniss, of course. Not before the reaping, because the last thing I wanted was for our first time together to be on the slag heap. She deserved so much more.

Not that she would want me, anyway.

And when I returned from the Hunger Games, there was Gale Hawthorne. I knew, of course, that he and Katniss had been hunting partners and friends for years. I'd seen them after school, when he would follow her home or watch as they would slip off to the woods together.

She seemed oblivious to it, but I noticed. I noticed how, sometime during the winter of the year she turned 16, Gale looked at her differently. I recognized it because it takes one to know one: A boy, or a man, who is hopelessly in love with Katniss Everdeen.

The realization made me so jealous it scared me. I had no idea I could harbor feelings that dark. I would imagine Gale touching her, kissing her, or even just talking to her, and I would be consumed with red-hot rage. I imagined myself getting into a fist-fight with him. Obviously I'd win, and after, Katniss would look adoringly at me and tell me that she had never wanted to kiss Gale, and she'd thank me for saving her. And then she'd kiss _me_ instead. When I snapped out of my daydreams, I always felt deeply ashamed of myself. Katniss Everdeen wasn't mine, and if I'd actually done that – gotten into a fight with Gale – she certainly wouldn't have thanked me after. She would've hated me. My only consolation was that Katniss didn't seem to be in love with Gale. She didn't seem to notice the way any of the boys at school looked at her.

When I told Caesar Flickerman – and all of Panem - about the girl I'd had a crush on for years, I never actually expected to come home to her. I was certain I'd die in the arena. Haymitch's plan was unprecedented in the history of the Hunger Games, that a tribute from 12 would team up with the careers. And not only that, but that the careers would do it not because they wanted to take advantage of a particular skill I had, like they did with the boy from 3 who knew how to re-arm the landmines. Instead, they did it because the careers have been known to hold their strongest enemies close, until most of the contestants are gone. Then they turn on each other. _We_ turn on each other. That's the way it usually goes. That's the way things went in my Games. Now that I've mentored for so many years, I've come to see how predictable most Hunger Games are. I didn't die because I beat the careers at their own game. They knew I was physically strong, but they didn't know I had it in me to be just as murderous as they were. Their underestimation became their downfall.

On the train back home, the only thing that kept me going was the thought of seeing Katniss again. I remembered what Caesar said - that if I won the Hunger Games, the girl I was in love with would _have_ to go out with me. I dreamed of finally approaching Katniss. I would ask her to take a walk with me. Perhaps I could cook her dinner, in my new, large house in Victors' Village. I finally had the courage to tell her how I felt about her. It wasn't quite clear to me what would happen after. Would she kiss me? Would she tell me she felt the same way? The memory of her smile, which I had seen only rarely but could never forget, helped get me through the dark, sleepless nights on the train.

I came back to 12 at the end of the summer with blood on my hands that I never seemed to be able to wash away. I found out that in my absence, life in 12 continued without me. And something between Katniss and Gale had clearly shifted during those long summer days. Perhaps even during the summer nights, although I tried not to think about that. I could not be mistaken. Gale and Katniss walked hand in hand. They kissed shyly, when Katniss didn't think anyone could see them, and when Gale thought everyone could. He was so obviously proud of his beautiful girlfriend, and seeing the two of them together was almost more than I could bear.

I had half a mind to compete for her attention. Gale was a poor miner. I was a Victor. I could provide for her in a way that he never would. But I quickly realized that Gale had something I didn't. He was free. Free of nightmares. Free of the Capitol – at least as free as anyone in 12 could be. When I returned to the Capitol two months after becoming a Victor, President Snow sold my body for the first time. Finnick, Cashmere and Gloss adopted me into their group of Victors turned prostitutes. I learned from them – what to do, from Finnick and Cashmere, and what not to do from stories of Johanna.

When I came home from the Capitol, feeling decades older than I had when I left 12, I decided that I could never bring Katniss into my new life. I'd heard whispered stories about Annie, and had a few hushed conversations with Finnick over a late-night drink. I knew I could never subject Katniss to the fate of constantly being a target. I couldn't do it to myself, for that matter. I saw Finnick's tears of devastation. I couldn't give Snow even more people to use against me.

The only way to keep Katniss safe was to stay away from her. To forget her. Staying away was easy, but forgetting was harder. Time helped somewhat, along with alcohol and drugs.

There were renewed stabs of pain, from time to time. Most notably seeing their wedding photo in the newspaper, when she became the miner's wife. I barely slept for a week after that. But when her belly started to swell, after nearly five years of marriage, was when I truly realized I'd lost her. I was numbed by mentoring and my other duties in the Capitol by then, but I still drank myself half to death that night.

Seeing Katniss's baby wrapped on her chest as I passed her on the street, the spitting image of his father, was too much. I voluntarily traveled the Capitol for the first time after that.

When Katniss became pregnant with her second child, what was left of my heart had almost stopped hurting. I wondered why she and Gale would have so few children, and so many years apart. Most houses in the Seam seemed to be bursting with dirty, scrawny children that their parents could barely feed. I supposed I should be happy for her, that she didn't. But happy was a word I'd stopped thinking of in the same sentence as Katniss Hawthorne.

She seemed happy, though. Tired, and probably hungry at times. But every time I passed her on the streets of the Seam, as I made my way to the Hob to buy white liquor for Haymitch and myself, she seemed… content.

There were a million reasons why I didn't try to help Katniss immediately after Gale died; each and every one of them were selfish. I didn't agree to employ her until Haymitch finally told me how he had run into her that night. I instinctively knew that Katniss Everdeen – or Katniss Hawthorne – would never go so far as selling her body to Cray if she wasn't desperate. There was no way I could allow that old bastard to touch her. Just the thought of it filled me with anger.

When they first stepped into my house and I saw Ivy's thin little body for the first time, it made me feel sick inside. I could've done something sooner to prevent it. Yet I chose to do nothing.

* * *

Even though I thought that I understood Katniss, I realize, now that she has moved into my house, that I don't actually _know_ her at all. It makes me feel like a fool. I have spent more than two decades pining over this woman who I actually _don't know_. How pathetic is that?

And how do you suddenly deal with having a woman you've loved from afar for so long move into your house? When she is burdened by grief and responsibility? Not to mention that her two children move in, too. I have no idea. She's not the little girl in pigtails anymore. Even back then, when we were in the same class, I never talked to her. How could I even begin to think that I know her now?

I have a feeling she's not a natural born housewife. I'm sure that if given a choice, she'd prefer to be out hunting in the woods, not cleaning windows. But she does a good job, and within weeks, the house is transformed from a hole into something that's actually quite… nice. It feels lived in, in a way it hasn't before.

I know, of course, that it's because of them, not because of me.

After the children are in bed, we sit in what I one night realize is a companionable silence. She reads a book, or mends the children's clothes. I'll pretend to read, drinking tea that's mostly white liquor, while I try to keep myself from staring at her. Even at night, tired from the activities of the day, with dark circles under her eyes from staying up with Ivy and with her braid partly undone, she's so beautiful.

I take a lot of late-night showers, desperately hoping the sounds of the falling water will drown out my moans and the strangled whispers of her name when I come. I try to take care of it in a detached, almost mechanical way, as I'm used to from the Capitol, but I _can't_.

She must never find out.

* * *

Ivy is the cutest baby I've ever seen, with her dark curly hair and two teeth in her lower jaw. I know I may be biased, since she looks so much like Katniss. I've never really had anything to do with children that age, being the youngest myself, and I'm surprised by how much personality there is in such a small body. She's so uniquely her own person already, even though she can't even talk yet. Katniss was understandably reluctant to let me interact with Ivy at first, but she seemed to relax after a few short weeks. I think Ivy actually _likes_ me. She'll smile that big smile of hers whenever she sees me coming through the door, and she'll hold out her little arms, wanting me to pick her up. It makes me happy and grateful in a way that I never expected. Ivy is ticklish and loves her yellow ball. Her favorite food is banana. There is nothing in this world she loves more than when her older brother plays with her, but it's not long before I become a good second choice in the playmate department.

I genuinely like Arrow, though he looks so much like his father it makes my stomach twist. I see what a great job Katniss is doing with him. Gale, too, for that matter. Arrow talks about his father a lot, and Katniss never stops him. She encourages him, telling stories about Gale that Arrow hasn't heard before. Even though they are, of course, for his benefit, the stories give me glimpses into her life as well. She chooses her words carefully, making sure she never says anything that directly betrays that she and Gale were outside the fence, but knowing how she survived when she was a teenager, it's clear she's telling Arrow about when they were hunting illegally. She tells her son about squirrels and wild plants, of freedom and swimming. At first I thought they were swimming in the river, but as I listen to her speak, I realize they must have been in a lake outside the fence that I didn't even know existed. There are more innocent stories, too, that don't involve offenses punishable by death. She talks about the time Gale jumped off the roof of his mother's house into a snow bank, which wasn't as deep as he'd thought, and almost broke his leg. She smiles as she speaks about the long winter evenings spent by the fire when Gale made Arrow his toy train.

I have to leave the room when she tells Arrow about how proud Gale was when his son was born. It's been nearly seven years, but I still can't deal with the memory of seeing Katniss's baby for the first time, knowing that he wasn't mine. I spend the rest of the day trying to avoid the three of them. And instead of sitting in the usual companionable silence with Katniss at night, I go to Haymitch's house and drink myself into oblivion. I make it back to my own bed at three in the morning, if only just.

* * *

I'm awoken by Ivy's laughter and the bright spring sunshine spilling through the window. I forgot to pull down the blinds last night. I stumble downstairs, desperately needing a hair of the dog that bit me to start feeling human again. I go to the kitchen and find that Katniss and Ivy are already there. Ivy is lying on a blanket on the floor, while Katniss does the dishes, and Ivy squeals when she sees me. I smile, but when I reach out my arms for her, Katniss stops me. "Not when you've been drinking," she says. She eyes me warily, looking tense. She reminds me of the cat we had when I was a little boy that my parents kept to hunt mice. Every time she had a litter, she'd get that same look whenever we tried to approach her kittens. She had every reason to; my mother would invariably kill every single kitten as soon as she could locate them.

I curse, and Katniss parts her lips slightly in shock, but stands her ground. Her eyes don't leave mine for one single second.

I leave the house instead of confronting her, slamming the door behind me. I hear Ivy crying, and feel guilty for scaring her.

Having been effectively chased out of my own home, I go to the only other place I can think of: Haymitch's house. He's sitting on the couch, watching some Capitol talk show. Why he'd ever want to see that crap is beyond me, and by the looks of it, he's already well into his first bottle of the day. Or perhaps it's his last, since Haymitch doesn't like to sleep when it's dark. He probably didn't go to bed after I left last night.

"Tired of domestic bliss already?" he guffaws when he sees me, but my face must betray my anger, so he pours me a drink.

"Fuck you, Haymitch."

"I'd rather not, if you don't mind." I roll my eyes. I remember seeing the tapes of his Games. Haymitch was ruggedly handsome, in that Seam way of his. He could've commanded a pretty hefty price in his day, if only Snow hadn't made the big mistake of killing off everyone he loved first, eliminating any leverage the Capitol had over the young, fierce Victor.

I tell Haymitch about Katniss and what she just told me – in my own house – and even I can hear that I'm whining. Pathetic. Haymitch laughs so hard he swallows his liquor wrong, and has a bad fit of coughing. When he's finally able to speak again, he points a finger at me. "It's about time someone told you off. I knew she was the only one who could."

"Why do you even care? Look at you! You're a damn drunk. You're worse than I am."

"Exactly."

"What did you just say?"

"What? You mean 'exactly'?"

"No, before that."

Haymitch doesn't answer. Instead, he gets up from the couch. "I could use some fresh air before I go to bed." His day rhythm is appalling. I scowl at him, but follow him outside. I'm not an idiot. We walk down the road leading to the town.

Finally, once the Victors' Village is out of sight, he speaks. "I saw the way you looked at her for years, Peeta. I'd have to be blind not to notice."

I pale. "Do you think that _she_ knows?"

He shakes his head. "Probably not, because _she_ is blind. I talked to Greasy Sae, you know, in the Hob?" I shrug my shoulders. I don't know the names of people in the Hob, only faces. "Anyway, she's known Katniss since she was a child. I asked her a few discreet questions, and it seems that Katniss is pretty dense when it comes to recognizing that men are in love with her. Sae said she was completely oblivious to how that Hawthorne boy felt about her, until he just went ahead and kissed her." He must see the horrified expression on my face, and laughs. "I guess she understood then, at least, because they were together shortly after. Sorry if it's too much information for your delicate ears." He knows, of course, that after being a Capitol prostitute for more than a decade, there is nothing delicate about my ears whatsoever.

Shit. If Haymitch knows… how many others do? Aside from my brothers, of course. Rye managed to get the truth of who I was in love with out of me when I was 14, and despite being sworn to secrecy, he told Bannock after roughly two minutes. They teased me mercilessly about being in love with a Seam girl for months.

I look down at my shaking hands. Haymitch notices, but doesn't hand me the bottle as I expect him to. As he always does. "So that's why you recognized who she was? That night, after Gale died."

"Yeah. When I saw the way you looked at her, I realized she was the girl you talked about with Flickerman. I decided to keep an eye on her, because you never know. So I sought her out in the Hob one day. I told her I wanted squirrel stew, and she helped me out. I became a regular customer."

"You like squirrel stew?"

"No, fuck that shit! Whatever you have to say about the Capitol, at least they have better food than we do. I'd take filet mignon over scrawny squirrels any day. I'm a Victor. I don't have to eat squirrels anymore. I gave the squirrels to some kids in the Seam." He laughs, and pours himself another drink.

"Anyway, I realized Katniss Everdeen was quite something. I asked around a bit, found out her story. About how her father had died, her crazy mother, her sweet little sister, and how she was hunting to keep her family alive. She had earned herself a lot of respect in the Seam, much more than she knew herself, probably."

"I can't believe you'd do that," I hiss, feeling even more ridiculous now. "Keeping tabs on her?"

Haymitch laughs again, mocking now. "Call it an extension of my mentoring duties, boy." I hate it when he calls me _boy_, and he knows it. "Anyway, you made a good choice. She had more courage than you yourself could ever dream of having. Sae claimed Katniss was pretty smart, too, although it was kind of hard to tell when all she would talk about was squirrels, and even that was only when I pressed her. She didn't look half bad, either." I huff. "Too bad she didn't look back at you as you stared longingly at her from afar, huh? The fact that she was already taken might have something to do with it, of course."

"Yeah. There was that." I look down.

There is a long silence as we keep walking. Finally, Haymitch breaks it. "I also have a feeling that there's something more than that childhood crush of yours. Am I right?" I don't answer, refusing to meet his eyes. I'll never tell him about the bread. I won't tell anyone.

Haymitch stops short, and I stop as well. He studies my face closely and continues. "You made the right decision back then. Not to get involved with her, I mean. It would have only put her in more danger." I look up at him, narrowing my eyes. "Anyway, I didn't have her move into your house just so you could fuck a pretty widow senseless." I blush deeply. "I did it because it was the only decent thing to do when I came across her about to do the dirty deed with Cray. It says a lot about her courage. I also knew she'd be someone who'd be strong enough to stand up against you, and I hoped that you'd listen to her. Because you sure as hell don't listen to anyone else."

I roll my eyes.

"Don't hurt her, Peeta. You'll have to deal with me if you do."

"What are you trying to say? That I should stay out of her bed?" My voice is dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes. That's _exactly_ what I'm telling you."

I take the bottle from him. "I guess that won't be a problem. Even if I were to want that... she never would." I take a large gulp of alcohol. Haymitch stares at me with a weird look on his face. "I still have no idea what you're _really_ trying to tell me." It's a shock to find out that he has kept track of Katniss over the years. That he _knew_.

"I'm pretty sure she can keep you from becoming like me." I look at him in the pale spring sun. He looks a bit better now, especially after I forced him to go to the Capitol and spend two weeks in a fancy hospital. I don't think the doctors there got his liver quite back in shape, but it must be better, at least. Although there is no doubt in my mind that he's drinking himself to death, and I'm sure he knows that, too.

"Fuck you," I hiss, and then I start walking again, in the direction of the Town. To my relief, Haymitch doesn't follow me. How dare he assume that Katniss means anything more to me than being my housekeeper... and someone I occasionally like to look at when she isn't noticing? _Damn_ _it_.

There is nowhere for me to go. There's no one I want see, or anyone who would want to see me. So I walk aimlessly, all around the District. I walk through the Seam, looking at the small houses. They were white long ago, but now they're all covered in black coal dust. Then I walk back to the Town. I consider going to the bakery, but I decide against it. My mother might be there. Besides, I'm not that interested in seeing Bannock, either.

I return to the Victors' Village late in the afternoon because I'm so hungry I can't think over my stomach's growl, not to mention my feet are aching. Katniss is a decent cook, although I'm much better. But it's her job, after all, so I let her do it. I haven't really cooked in years, anyway. There was no point when there was only me.

Dinner is ready, just as I suspected. She's kept it warm for me. I don't look at her as I slump down at the kitchen table, expecting to be fed. She gives me a large plate of what looks to be some kind of stew, made with potatoes and lamb. I wolf it down. I'm starving. All I've had all day is some liquor.

Katniss holds Ivy on her hip. Arrow is doing his homework on the opposite side of the kitchen table. I look at the gurgling baby. I've practically watched her fill out, day by day.

Abruptly, I get up.

There's a bottle under the sink. I take it out, open it, and look longingly at it. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Katniss frown. I pour it out into the sink. There's a bottle between two pillows on the couch, too. I pour that one out as well. One by one, I go through all of my hiding places in the house. There are many. I've always made sure there is a bottle close at hand, should I need it. I leave the liquor cabinet for last. It's full of bottles. This is the expensive stuff. Not that I've actually paid money for most of it. They're mostly gifts from "friends," or clients, if you will. And Capitol idiots who can't afford to pay the price I command, but who still want to suck up to me. As I pour of the contents of the last one, I hold Katniss's gaze with mine.

"Happy now?" I ask as the last drops disappear down the drain.

She doesn't answer, but there's a hint of a smile on her lips.

Haymitch was right. There is something between us. It's been there since we were children. And Haymitch might also be right about her being the only person who stands between me and an early death as an alcoholic... even though I can't fully explain to myself why that is. It started with a song and two braids, but that night in the rain, with the burned bread, sealed it.

* * *

_**I love to hear what you think about my stories, please leave me a review! They really make my day. You can also talk to me on Tumblr, I'm mockingjayflyingfree there as well.**_


	6. Secrets

**_Here's the next chapter! My Easter officially sucks, thanks to a nasty stomach bug. Ugh. All of us have been ill, one after the other. TMI? I guess. ;) But if you want to make my day a bit better, because I'm feeling ridiculously sorry for myself right now, please leave me a review!_**

**_Please make sure to read the notes at the end of this chapter. Thank you._**

**_And as usual, I have to thank my lovely ladies. Without you, this story would suck (and if you still think it sucks, it's all my fault, not theirs). Lbug84, I know that I've buried you under mountains of texts lately, but you still keep me grounded when I go too far, and give me exactly the feedback I need. And Chelzie – even though you have so much going on in your personal life right now, you still find the time to help me out with this story. I really appreciate it. Thank you so much, both of you._**

**_And last, but not least - thank you to everyone who's favorited, followed and reviewed this story. I haven't had the chance to get back to everyone who's reviewed TMW so far (I'm blown away by your feedback!), but please know that I read and appreciate every single review. Keep them coming! _**

* * *

**Secrets**

Peeta doesn't bring any new bottles into the house. Even when he visits Haymitch, I think he stays away from the white liquor. Sometimes when our paths cross, I get close enough to smell - or rather not smell - his breath.

No liquor.

I appreciate his efforts. I'm sure that it's not easy for him. I've seen the effects of withdrawal from white liquor before in a few of my mother's patients. I know it's not pleasant, and I never expected Peeta to do this for my children. I never even expected him to do this for himself. I'm not sure who he's doing it for. He does seem sick on some days, with trembling hands and a desperate sheen in his eyes. But the fog passes. I suppose he wasn't as far down the road to alcoholism as I'd thought.

Haymitch comes over for dinner. Having seen the state of his kitchen, I am more than happy to provide him with a nutritious meal, too. I haven't forgotten what I owe him. I also haven't forgotten that he's seen my naked, starving body, but thankfully he doesn't bring that up. Instead, he seems intent on teasing Peeta mercilessly. Through their jests, it's not hard to see the bond that exists between the two victors.

Haymitch arrives unannounced, but not every day. When he's here, he's taken to drinking water at dinner instead of white liquor. He still drinks after he goes home, but at least he keeps it out of the house.

It's strange how quickly I've developed a sort of ownership of the house.

The days pass. We've all settled into a comfortable routine. Ivy sleeps most of the night. Arrow is no longer afraid of the dark in his large room. We visit Prim and her family, and I'm relieved to see that she and her children have put on some weight. The bread from the bakery must be helping, along with the food I stuff into my backpack whenever I can.

A sober Peeta is much easier to relate to. He teaches me how to play poker. After three nights, I master the game well enough to beat him. He huffs, and says it's only beginner's luck. When I tell Haymitch about it, not even trying to hide my smirk, he guffaws and says that he wants to play, too. Haymitch says that Peeta sucks at poker, but there's no way I could beat _him_. So we play.

Haymitch's smile disappears gradually as I beat the crap out of them both.

"This is embarrassing, Haymitch," Peeta complains. "How many times have we played poker with the other Victors in the Capitol?"

I smirk. I'm a terrible liar, but it turns out I still have what they call a "poker face". I was also good at math in school. Besides, I can tell when Peeta's lying. He looks too closely at his cards, and sometimes he grinds his teeth. Haymitch is the more unpredictable liar, but he's rash, and often makes mistakes. He also underestimates me, which is his downfall.

It's a dark and rainy tonight, and the power is out. It doesn't happen a lot in the Victors' Village, unlike in the Seam. Peeta looks uneasy, but he won't say why. He only mutters something about District 5. We've lit candles, and we play poker as usual. There's no sign of Haymitch.

"Gale and I used to play chess at night," I suddenly say. I don't know why. I never talk to Peeta about Gale, unless he's listening in on the stories I tell Arrow.

Peeta loses the chips he was holding in his hand on the table. "Oh." He clears his throat. "Was he a good chess player?"

"Better than me, at least." I smile. "He was a strategist. He could think much further ahead, but I can only plan for the next two or three moves."

"Sounds like I'm at your level." I look at him. He's rearranging his few remaining chips on the table. He doesn't look up. "Would you like to play chess one night?"

My answer is immediate and spontaneous, "No." I can't explain to him why. Perhaps I can't even explain it to myself. I can't help but notice how he's clutching the edge of the table with his left hand so hard his knuckles are white. "But I like playing poker with you," I continue softly.

There's a hint of a smile on his lips when he finally looks at me. "You're only saying that because you're always winning, Katniss," he answers. I chuckle.

* * *

It's a sunny day in April. Peeta and I are sitting on the carpet in the living room, and Ivy is crawling between us – from me to him, and then back again. She is beaming, she is so proud of herself. And it's no wonder, because I'm ecstatic. And Peeta, much to my amazement, is _laughing_. I don't think I've ever heard him laugh before, at least not like this. The worry lines and years seem to evaporate from him before my eyes, and just for a second, I get a glimpse of the boy he must have been before he was sent into the Hunger Games. He picks Ivy up as she returns to him, holds her upside down and tickles her. Ivy squeals with joy.

Suddenly, Peeta stops. He looks at something behind my back, and puts Ivy down on the carpet. I look over my shoulder and see my mother, leaning against the open doorway with a look on her face that I can't quite interpret.

"Um… How do you do, Mrs. Everdeen," Peeta says. He's blushing.

I'm blushing, too. Dammit. "Hi, Mom. I didn't hear you come in." I had no idea she was even stopping by.

"Hi, dear." There is something odd about her smile. "I knocked on the door, but there was no response. I heard you, though, so I took a chance and came inside anyway. I hope it's all right." She picks up Ivy, who immediately starts playing with her necklace. "Someone's learned to crawl. Well done, Ivy!" She smiles down at Ivy, who sticks her fingers into her grandmother's mouth.

"Yes, she learned it today." I smile proudly.

"So that's why you were so… _overjoyed_."

"Yes." I'm nervous. Why am I nervous? I feel like I did back when my mother walked in on me and Gale on the couch when I was 17. Gale had his hand under my shirt, and after she chased him out of the house, I had to endure the most awkward talk I've had with my mother. Ever.

To hide my nervousness, I ask her if she would like some tea.

I take Ivy with me into the kitchen and my mother follows me. I know that look - there's something difficult or unpleasant she needs to say. I pour her a cup of tea, and she sits down by the kitchen table. I get a glass of water for myself and sit down by the table, too.

My mother talks about her neighbors, but I know that's not what she really came here to say. I furrow my brow. Peeta comes into the kitchen, and when he sees me nursing Ivy, he blushes and looks flustered. Even Ivy looks over to him, but doesn't stop eating. "I, uh… I'm going over to Haymitch's place," he says. He avoids looking directly at me.

I want to tell him there's no reason to be so uncomfortable; all I'm doing is nursing my baby. But I don't want to have that discussion right now, not with my mother present. "Okay. Will you be back for dinner?"

"Yes," he calls as he practically runs out of the house.

My mother visibly relaxes when she hears the door close behind him. "So why are you really here?" I ask her, raising an eyebrow.

"I needed to talk to you. Alone."

I offer Ivy the other breast. She's getting so old now that she nurses very quickly and efficiently. Well, at least she does when what she's primarily after is milk, not comfort. "What's wrong?"

My mother doesn't answer right away, as if contemplating how to proceed. "Has Arrow talked about school lately?"

"Not really," I answer. "Why?"

"I heard some things from Mrs. Beech. About Arrow and… school." Mrs. Beech is the mother of Erica, one of the girls in Arrow's class. She's also my mother's neighbor.

"Is there anything wrong?" If there was, surely Arrow's teacher would tell me? Or the principal?

"Mrs. Beech says that some of the other children have been teasing Arrow about…" Her voice trails off.

"About what?"

"About the fact that he lives in the Victors' Village and the nature of your… job."

It feels like a punch in the gut. "Are people really such small-minded gossips that the only reason they can think of for me living here is that I'm sleeping with Peeta Mellark?" I hiss, angrier than I had intended. Ivy stops suckling momentarily and looks questioningly up at me. I smile back at her reassuringly, knowing I have to keep it down.

"You know how people think, Katniss," my mother sighs. "Surely this can't come as a surprise?" Not really. But I hadn't expected anyone to actually discuss this in front of their children. That it would get back to my six-year-old son. "And then I come here and find you two laughing on the floor with Ivy."

"She did just learn to crawl."

"Seemed pretty _cozy_ to me."

Ivy's finished eating, and it's time for her nap. "I'll put Ivy down," I tell her stiffly. "Then we can talk." She nods.

I quickly change Ivy's diaper and lay her in her new crib. She only just moved out of my bed. I whisper "sleep well" to her and close the door behind me. I listen for her, but I don't hear anything. She usually goes right to sleep these days, without any fuss.

And now I have to tackle my mother. I have a feeling this conversation could end up becoming as unpleasant as the facts of life lesson I got back when I was 17. My mother's a healer. There was no talk of the birds and the bees. She was straight to the point and it was utterly embarrassing.

When I come into the kitchen, she has finished her cup of tea. I don't offer her another.

"If you have something to say, then say it," I mutter.

She sighs. "Katniss, you are 30 years old. You don't need me to lecture you."

"But you're still going to, aren't you?" My voice is hostile. "It's a bit late to start interfering in my life, don't you think?"

She opens her mouth, then closes it, as if she doesn't know which question to answer first. My words must sting. Good, because I wanted them to. She knows very well that I've been taking care of myself since I was 11. Even though she's well again, having come out of her depression, and we're closer than we have probably ever been, it doesn't mean I've forgotten.

"It's okay to be lonely, Katniss. And it's okay to… possibly want more." I'm about to cut her off when she lifts her hand to silence me and shakes her head. "Please, let me finish. What I'm saying is that while it's natural to be lonely, and perhaps want someone, Gale has only been gone for half a year. It's hardly a good time to get involved with _anyone_. And it's certainly not okay if you're doing it out of some sense of _obligation_."

To my horror, I feel tears well up in my eyes. I clear my throat. "I _don't_ want him," I say stiffly. "We are _not_ involved that way. I'm his _housekeeper_. We live in the same house. Peeta would never expect anything of me."

"I've seen the way he looks at you," she objects. I furrow my brow. What is she talking about? "And more importantly, I've seen the way you look at him."

What?

I shake my head. "You're imagining things. Really, Mom, you're going too far. If I want advice on my personal life, I'll ask you for it. But until then…"

She looks apologetic now. "I'm sorry, Katniss. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. But I do want you to be careful. And you need to know that people are talking, and that Arrow seems to be paying the price."

I quickly dry away a tear. "Why hasn't he told me?"

"He's probably trying to protect you."

My brave little boy, wanting to protect his mother.

"I'll go talk to the principal," I tell her. "And I'll talk to Arrow."

"You do that." She gets up from the table. "I have to visit a few patients, so I should get going. Thanks for the tea." I nod and follow her to the door without another word.

My mother is nearly out the door when she stops and turns back to face me. "I'm sorry for interfering in your personal life, Katniss. That was never my intention. But…" She pauses. "Be careful... with your heart."

I look away. "I don't think I have a heart to be careful with anymore."

"What makes you think that?" she asks softly. I can't answer. I'm too ashamed. "I worry about you, Katniss." I refuse to meet her eyes.

She sighs. "I don't want to bother you about this if you really don't want to talk about it. But please know that if you want to talk, I'm here, all right?"

"Thank you," I mutter.

I stare at the closed door after she has left.

* * *

I talk to both the principal and Arrow's teacher, leaving them with no doubt that I expect them to pay extra attention to Arrow and make sure the bullies are stopped. They promise that they will, but I have a bad feeling about this. Children are all too good at hiding bullying from adults.

Just as my mother suspected, Arrow is trying to protect me. When I try to talk to him, ask him if anyone is bothering him, or saying things about me, he falls silent and looks away.

"Would it be easier if I didn't take you to school every day, Arrow?" I ask him. "Perhaps if the children don't see me, if they don't get reminded every day…"

He shakes his head vigorously. "No, Mama. I like it when we go to school together."

There's a knot in my belly. Does he want me to take him to avoid being bullied before and after school?

I decide to take matters into my own hands. Without telling Peeta the reason why, I ask him if it's okay for me to invite some of Arrow's friends over. He looks surprised, but agrees. I invite his two best friends over one Sunday, along with their mothers. Peeta chooses to stay away, which is probably for the best. Drew and Slate, along with their mothers, who I both know quite well, seem a bit intimidated at first. I know from personal experience how overwhelming this house can be at first when you're used to the small houses in the Seam. The boys quickly warm up, though, and the tension seems to ease a bit with Anna and Lily too, especially over a cup of coffee and generous amounts of apple cake. Arrow gets a return invitation to both the boys' homes, and he seems really happy when I tuck him in that night. He talks more than he has in weeks. I hope that if I can keep his network of close friends secure, it will somewhat protect him from the effects of the bullying. I need to normalize us living in the Victors' Village.

I think it helps, because as the weeks pass, Arrow does seem to tell me more about school over dinner, and he seems happier. It breaks my heart that I can't protect my child from everything. I want to keep him close all the time, but I can't. I have to send him out into the world, and there's nothing I can do about it.

* * *

I'm surprised to find Peeta in the kitchen. It's not even six in the morning, and he's already up. What's more, he's _baking_. I know he's a baker's son, of course, but I've never seen him bake before.

"Good morning," he says with the shadow of a smile on his lips.

"Good morning," I answer. "You're baking… bread?"

I must sound either insulted or insecure, as I know my own baking skills are less than satisfactory. "I couldn't sleep, and suddenly I just felt like baking. I haven't baked in…" His voice trails off, and he looks into the distance for a few seconds. Then it's as if he snaps back. "Never mind."

I put Ivy down on the floor. Looking after her is quite a lot of work now that she's crawling. Arrow is still asleep. I really wish Ivy would start waking up a bit later in the morning. I look at Peeta, at the way he concentrates on the dough. I wonder if he's been awake all night, since the dough has already risen. "Would you teach me?" I ask before I have the chance to think about whether or not it's a good idea. I blush. "I mean, I'm… I've never been very good at baking. My breads look like… Well, you've seen them."

He smiles. "There's nothing wrong with your baking. The loaves are just a bit… flat." He's being too kind, and I know it. They look like train wrecks, but at least they taste okay. "But sure, I'll show you. Come here." I stand next to him by the counter. Within less than a minute, my hands are covered in sticky dough, but strangely, his are clean. I have no idea how he does it. I sigh, frustrated, as he's made two perfect loaves of bread, while all I've done is made a mess of everything. Peeta laughs, and gets me some more flour. "Here, do like this," he says and rubs my fingers between his hands, using enough flour to remove most of the dough that was stuck on mine.

It's the first time he's deliberately touched me like this. It's not a caress in any way. He's only helping me clean up, but it still feels… intimate. I hold my breath, although I don't know why. Suddenly, I realize that he must have asked me a question I didn't hear and subsequently didn't respond to, because he's looking at me with his eyebrows raised. "Um… sorry, what did you say?"

"I said you can wash your hands to get rid of the rest of the dough, and then use a bit more flour on the table and on your hands when you make the last bread. It should help."

I cock an eyebrow at him. "You're not letting me off, are you?" I do as he says, though, and the remains of the dough wash off relatively easily.

"No," he says, giving Ivy another wooden spoon to play with. Toys that aren't really toys are much more interesting to her than _actual_ toys.

Peeta's wearing washed-out jeans and a white t-shirt that shows his stocky, muscular build. I've never really noticed before just how broad he is. I've never noticed… I feel my face getting warm, and realize I must be blushing. Dammit. I quickly turn to the oven, opening it to check on the loaves of bread that are already in there. That's the excuse, anyway, so I can explain my flushed face should he ask. Or perhaps I'm only really using it as an excuse for myself.

"You're good at this," I say as I turn around, facing him again. "Baking, I mean."

"Well, I am a baker, after all."

It's odd, I've never thought of him as a baker. He hasn't lived above the bakery since he won the Hunger Games. "I like that you still think of yourself as a baker," I say.

"Well, it sure beats "killer", doesn't it?" he asks, and it's as if his face closes up. He starts to clean the bowl the dough was in, avoiding my gaze.

"I didn't mean it like that," I whisper. I'm so bad with words. I should just shut up.

"I know," he mutters. "It's still the truth, though."

"What? That you're a baker?"

"No, that I'm a killer."

I shake my head slowly. "It's not something you chose. You didn't have any control over…"

"What about Madge?" he cuts me off.

I look away. "I can't… Please, let's not talk about this."

"I know you were her friend. I killed her, Katniss. How does that make you feel?"

When I was younger, I replayed that scene in my head so many times, late at night. I choose to evade his question. "You didn't kill her." My voice is low and steady.

"Yes, I did." He looks so defeated.

I point to the oven. Through the glass, we can see the loaves of bread rise. "See that?" He furrows his brow, not understanding. "It's _bread_. It means life. It's food, it _saves_ people. You're a baker, Peeta. Not a killer. You may have… killed people, though you did it because you had to survive. But it's not who you are."

He laughs bitterly. "Maybe it is? I was already fucked up, long before the Hunger Games finished the job. Living under the constant threat of a rolling pin will do that to you. I don't know, maybe it was for the best. Maybe the way my mother treated me toughened me up enough to win. No one decent ever wins the Games. Maybe I had less sanity and humanity to lose."

"Peeta…" He looks so defeated. Without thinking, I touch his upper arm. His skin is so warm under my fingers. I squeeze reassuringly, feeling how hard his muscles are. "It's not your fault. It's not your fault your mother treated you so badly, and it's not your fault you were reaped. You did what you had to do to survive. That's all."

He takes a deep breath. "I wish I could believe that. But just for the record… I want to tell you that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for throwing you that bread instead of giving it to you, like I should've done. And I'm sorry for not doing anything to help when Gale died. I almost let you and the children starve to death."

I wonder what he means by that. He didn't have any obligation to help me when I was widowed. Dozens of miners die in accidents every year. The Seam is full of widows. But I let it pass. This conversation is difficult enough as it is. "And I want to thank you… For saving my life. Twice." It's hard for me to thank anyone for anything. I don't want to have to thank people, because it means that I owe them. Peeta doesn't say anything. He only nods his head and looks away.

The smell of fresh bread is spreading through the kitchen.

* * *

I'm irritable and edgy all day, snapping at the children and avoiding Peeta as much as I can. I turn down his request to play poker and go to bed early.

And now I can't sleep.

Ivy is sleeping in her crib; I can hear her soft, quiet breathing. It usually lulls me right to sleep. And I know I really should get some rest, as I've been awake since five in the morning. Still, sleep won't come. I toss and turn while I curse myself without really knowing why. Perhaps I shouldn't have gone to bed this early. But I just couldn't face looking at Peeta tonight.

Looking at Peeta?

For some reason, all I've been able to think about today are his arms. The way they looked when he kneaded the dough, the muscles so defined under his pale skin… And his hands were so warm, the skin was burning against mine.

I'm shocked to realize that I've involuntarily pressed my thighs together, creating friction between them. I feel a pulse between my legs that's all too familiar. Except it's never been like this.

It's never been about him.

It hasn't even been a year. And here I am, lying in bed, thinking about a man who's not Gale. What the fuck is wrong with me?

My heart is pounding.

It's so quiet. Peeta must be downstairs. I know he doesn't go to sleep this early. In fact, I don't know when he retires. All I know is that it must be much later than I do. I don't think he sleeps much. Listening closely for his steps, my face burning with shame, I allow my right hand to travel where it's been longing to go, perhaps all day. I pull up my nightgown and let my fingers slip inside my panties.

I can't think about the last time I had a release. It was with Gale. It feels like a lifetime ago... the night before he died. I have to block that memory out. Thinking about it hurts too much.

I stifle a gasp when I feel just how wet I am. Just from… I bite my lip. Just from thinking. Spreading my legs a bit more, I let my fingers slip inside, collecting wetness which I then draw on my clit. I just have to get this over with. Quickly, without thinking about what I'm doing.

My body jerks at the touch, almost as if it's not my own hand.

I turn my head to stifle my moan in the pillow. I'll die of shame if Peeta comes upstairs and hears me. I squeeze my eyes shut. My left fist is closed tightly around the sheet. My right index finger is drawing tight circles around my clit, sending instantaneous jolts of electricity up my spine, causing my body to twist almost uncontrollably. This won't take long, and considering the circumstances, that's probably for the best. My breathing quickens, I feel a coil tightening in my lower stomach as I draw closer to the brink.

That's when I hear the familiar steps. Surprisingly heavy for someone who survived the Hunger Games. He's certainly not a hunter. I went to bed more than an hour ago, so he must think that I'm asleep. He has no idea that I'm still awake, with my hand between my legs while I think about… I'm mortified to realize that I can't stop. I _should_ just stop, right now, but I can't.

He's right outside my door, which isn't even locked, when I come. I stifle my moans with the pillow while I know, _know_ that he's right outside the door, and it's not locked, and he could come inside and reach out his hand towards me, under the sheets, and…

Do his steps slow down, just ever so slightly, as he passes my door? Or is it just my imagination? I ride out my orgasm, while I listen to his steps disappearing into the room at the end of the hallway. Can he hear my gasps and my whimpers? I desperately hope he can't. At the same time, it feels as if the very idea of him being so close, that he could possibly hear, prolongs and intensifies my orgasm.

My body collapses against the mattress, boneless and heavy. I'm ashamed that I touched myself, but most of all, I'm mortified that I thought of _him_ while I did.

I'm so tired. My head is spinning. My still heart races in my chest.

I curl up in bed and fall asleep.

* * *

I find it hard to meet his eyes at breakfast, pretending as if nothing happened. That I didn't imagine that his hands were touching me instead of my own.

Or instead of Gale's.

But of course, Peeta has no idea. He must not have heard me last night, because he acts just like he always does. It's only me who feels as if something has changed.

I try to avoid him as much as I can without him noticing, which is surprisingly hard. Without it being a conscious decision, we've spent a lot of time together lately. We've not necessarily talked or done anything in particular, we have just been together in the same room.

But today, I can't stand it. I feel as if he must see right through me. That he must see what I did last night. And the worst part is that my body remembers, and I'm shocked to discover that my body wants _more_. I try to rationalize it. Of course my body wants more. Gale has been gone for months, and even in the last few months before he died, I was either heavily pregnant or I had a newborn baby. But not anymore. I'm a healthy woman. With _needs_, apparently. My mother said it was okay to want someone, although I'm not sure she'd be supportive if I'd told her about _this_.

But rationalizing doesn't help at all. Instead, it brings tears to my eyes. Mortified, I mumble an excuse and run out of the room, leaving Peeta with Ivy. When I return 15 minutes later, he looks sad, but doesn't say anything. He must notice my red-rimmed eyes and puffy face, but he's too polite – or too scared – to say anything about it.

I go to bed early again. I can't bear the thought of playing poker with him as if nothing's happened.

It doesn't help, though. Quite the opposite. I don't get away from him, because his blue eyes seem to sparkle at me through the darkness. I know it's just my imagination, but it feels real. My hand seems to move of its own volition, to that place where my thighs meet. Tonight, I'm not surprised at all to find that I am again soaking wet. And this time, the name on my lips, the one I stifle in the pillow as I come, is definitely his.

In the morning, I try to avoid him again. I do a better job of it, too – until Ivy's nap time. I pass around a corner, and suddenly, he's there. He looks… hurt. I swallow. I never wanted to hurt him. I never wanted to…

"Have I done anything to offend you, Katniss?" he asks, his voice low so as not to wake Ivy. I shake my head, wordlessly. "I think I must have, because you've been acting so strangely these last few days. Whatever it is, I'm sorry."

I keep my eyes fixed on the floor, and I'm mortified to find that tears are rolling down my cheeks, and I can't stop them. When he sees my tears, he instantly moves closer, touching my cheek with his large, warm hands, brushing the tears away. "Oh, Katniss, please don't cry."

He's standing too close to me. But for the life of me, I can't move away from him. He puts two fingers under my chin, lifting it, forcing me to meet his eyes. Even through the veil of tears, I see his blue merchant eyes clearly.

He gasps. I hold my breath.

I can't say what passes between us in that moment. It seems to last forever. Then I break the eye contact with him, and turn away. He doesn't follow me.

At night, after the children are in bed, he is very quiet.

"Katniss, there is something I have to tell you," he finally says. "I should've told you earlier, but I… I don't know why I couldn't."

I hope my fear doesn't show. He's going to tell me. He's going to tell me that he's heard, or that he's understood, or…

"I'm going to the Capitol."

* * *

**_Yes - Peeta is going to the Capitol. And you know what happens to desirable victors there._**

**_I need you to realize that although this story is ENDGAME EVERLARK, it's going to be a bumpy ride. In the next couple of chapters, there will be non-Everlark pairings. I have decided to write two different versions of chapters 7 and 9, because I don't want FFN to take down my story. So one version will be posted on FFN, and the full Explicit rated version will be on AO3. The AO3 version will give you a deeper and better insight into what "working" in the Capitol is like for Peeta, including his relationship with the other victors. However, the story should still make sense if you choose to read the version on FFN. I'm basically editing out the non-Everlark smut, that's the main difference between the two versions. _**

**_If you're not familiar with AO3, you can find it here: archiveofourown dot org . There are lots of great stories on AO3, and not all of them can be found here on FFN. Enjoy!_**

**_I you can read TMW on AO3 without being a registered user, but I do have some invites available if you want to register - just send me a PM. _**

**_So this is what is going to happen in the upcoming chapters that may not be to everyone's liking:_**

**_In chapter 7, there will be a Peeta/Cashmere scene. It's a rare pairing, I even had to create a new relationship on AO3 because apparently, no one had done it before. I happen to be a Cashmere fan. She may be a career, but I won't turn her into a heartless bitch. Even if you read the FFN version, Cashmere is still going to be there. You will also meet her in chapter 9, and probably in some of the later chapters. We don't know much about Cashmere from Catching Fire, but what little we do know has made me very curious. She's deadly, she's intelligent, she's beautiful and she knows how to manipulate an audience. A fantastic character in her own right!_**

**_Chapter 8 is written in Katniss's POV, and deals with what happens to her while Peeta is in the Capitol. You'll also get the story of her relationship with Gale. I just thought I'd give you a fair warning if you really hate Galeniss._**

**_In chapter 9, there will be a scene with Peeta and a customer. It may be difficult to read – it was certainly difficult for me to write it, but it was necessary. This scene will not be part of the FFN version of the chapter, but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen in the FFN version. In general, c_****_hapters 7 and 9 deal with the forced prostitution. It's not pretty, but it's what Peeta's life has become, and I have to address it._**


	7. The careers

**_I've written two versions of this chapter. One explicit rated version for AO3, and one that is not for FFN. Which version you choose to read is entirely up to you._**

**_You can find the AO3 version here: archiveofourown dot com works / 1244200 / chapters / 3368876  
Remove all spaces. And if that still doesn't work, just search for my authorname (MockingJayFlyingFree) and you'll find my profile with links to all my stories._**

**_This chapter deals with forced prostitution. In the AO3 version there is also some Peeta/Cashmere smut. If you can't stomach the former, then I suggest you skip this chapter, regardless of version – and you will have a hard time getting through this story in general, because as suggested by the story summary, the consequences of forced prostitution are central in TMW. If you can't stomach reading Peeta/Cashmere smut, then the FFN version you're currently reading is the one for you. Peeta and Cashmere's relationship, such as it is, is essentially the same in both versions of this chapter, even though the FFN version is smut free. It does NOT mean Peeta and Cashmere haven't had a sexual relationship in the FFN version, because they have. What it means is that you don't have to read about the details. You'll meet Cashmere again in several other chapters of TMW as well. I hope you'll like her as much as I do!_**

**_I'd like to thank Lbug84 for going over several versions of this chapter and helping me get it right. Balancing this chapter was difficult, and it would've sucked without you. And if it still does, it's all my fault, not yours!_**

**_Also a big thank you to Chelziebelle for prereading. Sorry for always burying you under mountains of text! You're the best._**

* * *

**Chapter seven: The Careers**

It's time to for yet another trip to the Capitol. I usually refer to these trips as "working holidays" when I talk about them. _If_ I talk about them. Haymitch is the only one who knows why I go to the Capitol, except to mentor during the Hunger Games. I suppose everyone else in 12 thinks I'm there for the parties.

I'm sitting in Haymitch's kitchen, which looks filthy to me now that my own kitchen is spotless. I've brought him some bread, but I hadn't expected him to sob because of it. Embarrassed at this unusual emotional outburst, I locate some tissue paper that looks like a rat might have peed on it, but I give it to him anyway. He blows his nose loudly.

"You're worrying me, Haymitch. Since when do you cry?"

"When was the last time you baked?"

I sit back, stunned. I haven't even thought about it myself. I shrug. "I don't know." I decide it's best to change the subject. "I'm leaving in two days."

"Who else is going to be there?"

"Finnick. I just talked to him yesterday. He's been in the Capitol for three weeks already."

"Cashmere?"

I nod. "And Gloss."

Haymitch wrinkles his nose. I know what he's thinking. Cashmere and Gloss are the only victor siblings in the history of the Hunger Games, and they are both stunning. As a result, they are usually offered as a package. In addition to the usual prostitution business, they have regular shows, where they don't entertain customers physically. All the Capitol pigs do is watch brother and sister fuck. It's basically a live porn movie with interactive elements, as it's possible to request certain positions or actions along the way.

I will never, ever understand the twisted Capitol minds.

"Oh, I don't know," I say, watching Haymitch empty yet another glass. I wonder how I'm going to get through this trip without drinking. Or without drugs. Maybe I can drink and do drugs in the Capitol, and be sober when I'm here? "Cashmere says she kind of prefers it to fucking strangers. She says at least Gloss respects her."

"Is she any good?"

"You're a disgusting old pig, Haymitch."

"Is she any good?" he repeats.

I roll my eyes. Haymitch knows very well that I've had more than a few appointments that involved Cashmere. He also knows that Cashmere has spent time in my bed, without anyone from the Capitol being involved. She can't help me ward off my nightmares, nor am I of any help with hers, but we provide each other with relief and something that passes for comfort when we are awake. We have, on and off, for years. We're not a couple, and we never will be. We are too damaged, both by the Hunger Games and what came after. But she has become a good friend, and I trust her as much as a victor could trust someone. "Of course she is, Haymitch. She's been on the Capitol's payroll for, what, 20 years? She knows every trick in the book, and then some."

"I bet she does. She's seriously hot."

"Jealous, Haymitch?" I ask with a smile. I rarely hear him talk about women.

He guffaws, but doesn't answer my question. Instead, he changes the subject. "Who else? Any of the new kids?"

I sigh. These new, young victors. Every year, I see how they change – from relative innocence, considering what they have done to win the Hunger Games, via desperation, to resignation. It doesn't get any easier. Every year, it's just as hard to watch them transform.

"Diamond." The most recent victor, a beautiful girl from 1. Too beautiful.

Haymitch snorts. "Their names just keep getting more ridiculous. Someone in 1 should get shot for coming up with names like that."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure someone will get shot. Probably her parents, if she doesn't do as she's told." I'm angry. I know I shouldn't say these things, especially not here. "She's just turned 19, and she's been a Capitol worker for less than half a year. This is only her second season. Cashmere tries to help her... and I will, too." I hope I don't have to sleep with Diamond myself. She's only a kid. My stomach twists at the thought. "Spar's going to be there, too." I don't really like the boy from 2 who won three years ago. I think he's an arrogant asshole, and besides, he's developed a pretty big drug problem already. But we're all in this together, I guess. "And Enobaria." Her sharpened teeth and attitude are a big hit in the Capitol. The citizens love a good show, and Enobaria provides them with just that.

"Wow, what a gang. You kids have fun."

"Oh, I'm sure we will." I had intended for my voice to be dripping with sarcasm, but it just comes out as tired and old. I take a deep breath. "I haven't told _her_ I'm going yet."

Haymitch takes another chug of white liquor. "When are you planning to tell _her_, boy? Are you going to leave _her_ a note?" His voice is sarcastic.

I huff. "No, of course not. I've just been… waiting for the right time. But I'm going to tell her tonight." I pause. Katniss has been acting so weird lately. She clearly tries to avoid being in the same room as me, and even when she is forced to interact with me, she barely talks to me. I have no idea what's going on with her. Is it something I've done? I'm afraid telling her I'm leaving for the Capitol will make things even worse. "Will you look after Katniss and the children while I'm gone?"

"I don't think Katniss needs an old drunk to look after her."

"No, I guess she doesn't."

Finally, I'm able to say the thing I came here to tell him. "Please don't tell her… about why I'm going to the Capitol." For some reason, I can't meet his eyes.

"Of course I won't tell her, Peeta. Why would I?" His voice is surprisingly warm.

I shrug. Thankfully, he doesn't ask me why I would care if she knew.

* * *

I finally tell her. The truth is out in the open now. Well, parts of it anyway. Katniss knows that I'm leaving, but not the real reason why. I pack some things; clothes for the train journey, mostly. I have a suite in the Capitol, all my Capitol clothes are there. I can't wear Capitol clothes here in 12 any more than I can wear 12 clothes in the Capitol. On the train, I'm in limbo.

I'm already starting to feel like a caged animal.

After packing, I have an overwhelming need for a drink. I still manage not to go over to Haymitch's and beg him for a bottle.

Arrow is very excited that I'm going to be on a train. I promise to buy him a present from the Capitol.

It's strange to have someone to buy presents for.

I guess that means I'll have to buy something for Ivy, too, even though she's too little to be hurt if her brother gets a present and she doesn't. Should I get something for Katniss, too? Is that going too far? Will she be offended if I do? Or perhaps she'll be offended if I don't, and not tell me?

It's confusing. What does it all mean? First she became my friend, I think. Then all of a sudden, she acted as if I didn't exist for days. She avoided me, and when she was forced to be in the same room with me, she barely talked to me at all. She cried, but she wouldn't tell me why. I can still remember the way she looked at me afterwards… I can't get that look in her eyes out of my head. _Fire_. It was as if she was on fire. Her eyes held me, they wouldn't let me go.

There's no fire in her eyes tonight, though. Again, she avoids looking at me, and doesn't talk to me. It's time to leave. I'm scheduled on the night train, which leaves at 10. After the children are in bed, we sit in silence in the living room until a little past 9 and it's time for me to go.

"I should…" I look up at the clock on the wall.

"Yes."

I get up from the couch, and she gets up from her chair, too. She plays with the end of her braid.

"I'll be back in three weeks," I tell her. It's not really necessary. She already knows.

She nods. "Okay." Then she takes a deep breath. "Will you be okay?" Finally, she looks at me. I can't tell what she's thinking. Her mask is on. The wall is up.

I shrug. "Sure." I probably won't be. I have a feeling it's going to be worse than ever this time. And it's because of her – and the children. But I can't say that to her, for obvious reasons.

"What exactly is it that you do in the Capitol?" She tries to keep her voice casual, but she doesn't quite make it.

So she suspects something. She must. This is dangerous territory. "I'm a representative for President Snow," I say, weighing my words carefully. "You know, attend parties, official functions, do interviews… things like that. To please our sponsors. Lots of Capitolites want to socialize with victors. We're their celebrities."

She nods, as if she understands, but I know she doesn't have the framework to. She's never been outside of 12. She doesn't know how things work in the Capitol. "Do you like it?"

I hesitate slightly. "It's my job. I don't have to like it."

"Then why do you do it?" When I don't answer, she continues. "You've been really tense lately. And you've been acting strangely every time your trip comes up."

"It's part of being a victor, Katniss," I tell her. "Whether I like it or not, that's the way it is." It's the truth. Just not all of it. I pick up my bag from the floor. "I need to get going."

She nods, and follows me to the door. I know that in three weeks, when I come home, the house won't be empty. When I open the door and step inside, the house won't smell like no one lives here. It will be a welcome change from the many lonely years. But I know what awaits me in the Capitol.

"Take care, Peeta," she says. "Bye."

"Bye."

I'm about to turn around to open the door and leave when I feel arms around my middle. She's..._hugging_ me. I think this is a hug, anyway. It's short, not particularly soft or sweet, and verging on awkward. My elbows get in the way, and my heart races. I smell her hair, feel the soft swell of her breasts against my chest for a split second, and then she releases me.

I open the door, walk down the steps, and go to the train station. Not once do I dare to look back.

* * *

Surviving two weeks in the Capitol without drugs is impossible. I realize it even before the train pulls into the train station. I promise myself that I will try to stay away from alcohol, but I'll allow myself to do drugs as needed, which I have a feeling will be every day. The two days on the train back to 12 will probably be enough to get the drugs out of my system, so Katniss will never know.

The only good thing about going to the Capitol is socializing with the other victors. I go straight from the train station to the hotel's rooftop bar, where they're already waiting for me. Hotel. "Hotel" is a nice word for "Snow's brothel", which is what it actually is. We have our own personal suites, and there are various bedrooms and studios designed specifically for the purpose of selling our bodies.

In the bar, I immediately spot an odd assortment of people sitting by our regular table. People who I would never even have considered getting to know had I met them by chance. But the Hunger Games brought us together, and my friendships with the other victors are probably the only good thing to come out of all this. I wish Johanna were here, too, but she's only in the Capitol for the Hunger Games. She mentors, but Snow killed off all her relatives and loved ones for her disobedience, so he doesn't have any leverage over her anymore. As a result, she's bold, daring to say some of the things that the rest of us don't. Though, even she's not stupid enough to go too far. She knows she would be easy to dispose of. In fact, I think the only reason why she consents to mentoring at all is that she wants to stay visible in the public eye. It makes it harder for Snow to kill her off. Chaff, Seeder, Beetee… Many of the victors have become good friends over the years. I wish I could call the people here tonight the crème de la crème of the victors, but it's not true. In fact, we are some of the most thoroughly fucked up of them all. We just happen to look good and be reasonably young.

I stop by the bar to get a glass of water before I make my way over to the table, hoping the others won't notice what's in my glass. I notice the stares I'm getting from the capitolites who are here, but I ignore them. I fucking hate being a celebrity. I know these idiots are here mainly because they hope to get a closer look at their precious victors, perhaps even talk to us so they can brag about it on their silly social media networks afterwards.

I'm greeted with smiles, hugs, a grin full of fangs and a raised eyebrow. Cashmere, Enobaria, Gloss, Finnick, Diamond and Spar. Haymitch was right – it really is quite a gang. It doesn't take long for Gloss to discover the contents of my glass. I guess I shouldn't be surprised – it's hardly what I'd normally drink.

"So… water, Mellark?"

I clear my throat. "Um… yeah."

"Now that's a story I'd like to hear," Cashmere giggles. She's drunk. And gorgeous.

"There's no story, I just… don't want to end up like Haymitch. That's all." That would've been credible, if only I hadn't told them all repeatedly over the years that I didn't fucking care if I ended up like Haymitch.

Cashmere raises an eyebrow. "Who is she?"

"What? There is no she!"

"Who is _he_, then?"

"There's no he, either!"

Cashmere snorts. "Yeah, right." She takes my hand. "Come fuck me, Mellark. Right now."

"No."

"See? There is someone."

I grit my teeth. "There's no one, alright? I'd never drag anyone with me into… _this_."

Cashmere raises her eyebrows at me. "I got a housekeeper, that's all. She has small children, and she doesn't want me to drink in front of them."

"So… your housekeeper moved into your house? With her children? And you let her dictate your drinking behavior in _your own_ house?"

When Cashmere says it like that, I sound like a weakling. "Uh… I guess."

"And what does her husband say about her moving into your house?"

"He's… he passed away."

"Oh, a widow? They are the best ones," Gloss says, a devilish glint in his eye. "No virtue to worry about, well trained in bed, and more often than not, horny as hell. Well done, Mellark. I'm impressed."

"Gloss!" I get up, pissed off and ready to punch him in the face, when I realize that they are all practically rolling on the floor in laughter at my expense. Even young Diamond is laughing nervously.

I roll my eyes, but find it hard to hide my smile.

Thankfully, after a while they stop teasing me and start talking about something else. Victor gossip (apparently Johanna took off all her clothes in an elevator), speculation about this year's arena, Finnick's new boat. "You should come see it," he says, but we all know we won't. I've never visited any of the others, and I don't think they have visited each other, either. I wonder what it would be like to meet the other victors somewhere else. In their home districts. What would Cashmere look like early in the morning, in her own kitchen, making her own morning coffee? What would it be like to see Finnick – together with Annie? Meet Spar's parents?

I've lost track of what the others talk about, something about the technical details of the engine of Finnick's boat. I look at Diamond, and I realize she's not really following the conversation, either. "Not interested in boats?" I ask her, keeping my voice low so Finnick doesn't hear it.

She shakes her head. She's blond and beautiful, like Cashmere. She's also deadly. Like all of us. She tilts her head, and I see something shimmering. I brush her hair away from her shoulder to reveal her earrings. They are white gold, studded with diamonds. They are shaped like ninja stars.

"Subtle," I say.

She chuckles. "I know. They were a gift from President Snow." Ninja stars are what made Diamond famous, and they are the reason why she is alive. Her mother trained her to throw ninja stars when she was four years old, and it's a skill that was perfected during her years at the Victor Academy in 1. Diamond was practically born a career – but underneath all that, she's also quite innocent.

"Well, you certainly couldn't turn down such a generous gift," I say.

Her smile fades slightly before it's back on again. Good. She knows. Cashmere is a good teacher. "No, I couldn't. Goes well with my outfit, too." She gestures down to her black leather dress, which hugs her curves – she has obviously never starved. It's edgy, but not too dramatic, and suits her style perfectly. She's right – the ninja stars look perfect. But of course, 1 has an amazing stylist. They got Cinna – he did so well with me and the long deceased District 12 tributes for the first few years after I became a victor that he was promoted to a career district.

On the other side of the table, Spar is getting drunk. Messy drunk, and singing with Enobaria. He knocks a glass over with his elbow, and it shatters on the floor. He swears loudly, but quickly gets a new one from a waiter and all is forgotten. I can see Diamond studying Spar from under her eyelashes, heavy with black mascara.

"There are examples you should follow," I murmur to her, leaning a bit closer so no one but her can hear what I'm saying. "And then there are the ones you shouldn't."

"You're one to talk, Peeta," she answers, her voice as low as mine. "I remember how wasted you were last fall. It takes more than one night drinking water for you to have any right to lecture me on drinking behavior."

I have half a mind to scold her for lecturing me, a senior victor – but I have to admit to myself that she's right. I also have to admire her spunk. "It's different for men. We don't appear weaker when we're inebriated." Her face softens and she nods her head, processing my cautionary words. "I guess there's a reason why you're a victor though, right?" I can't help but chuckle.

"There's a reason you are one, too."

"True." I pause. "Your first season is behind you now. It's the worst one in some ways – but not in other ways."

"What do you mean?" She's serious now. The ninja star hanging from her right ear rests against the flawless skin of her neck. I wonder if they are as sharp as they look.

"The first season is awful because you're new, and it's a lot to get used to." That's the understatement of the year. "But they know you're new, and they cut you some slack because of it. Not much, but some. But now, in your second season, it's expected to be routine."

She can't hide the way the words hit her. Her pupils dilate, and she takes a sharp intake of breath. "_Routine_?" Her voice is actually shaky. I wonder if she's close to crying. She looks so tough, and she _must_ be tough. But I wonder how deep it really goes.

"Sorry," I say. "I know it's a fucked-up thing to say, but it's true."

She looks down at her drink, which she has barely touched until now. Suddenly, she throws her head back and downs it. She puts her glass back down on the table after, so hard I think for a split second that the glass will break. "I think I need another drink."

* * *

Finnick and I are the last to retreat to our rooms. We are also the only ones who are sober. Finnick very rarely drinks, saying he prefers to remember everything the next morning. I know he doesn't mean that he prefers to remember everything that he does or everything that people do to him – he wants to remember everything he hears.

Finnick collects secrets.

"Have you seen your schedule for the next week yet?" he asks me as we are about to part.

I shake my head. "I prefer not to." I don't want to think about tomorrow. All I know about is the doctor's appointment I have in the morning. Finnick gets off of the elevator before me and with a nod of his head, he disappears.

As I walk down the corridor, not a person in sight, I have a sudden urge to call home. It's two in the morning. With the time difference, it's four a.m. in 12. Katniss is definitely asleep, and I don't want to wake her. Ivy wakes early, and sometimes she's awake at night, too. Katniss needs her sleep. Besides, I'd probably scare her to death if I called her in the middle of the night; she'd think something was wrong.

I really wish I could hear her voice right now.

I can call Haymitch, though. He'll be awake. I won't even have to come up with an excuse why I called him in the middle of the night. He'll understand.

But when I enter my suite, I find a sleeping Cashmere in my bed. I'm not particularly surprised. She got pretty drunk, and it looks like she has more or less passed out. She didn't even take off her shoes. So I'm definitely not calling Haymitch tonight. I don't want to wake her. Besides, if Haymitch found out I called him with Cashmere in my bed, I'd never hear the end of it.

I take her shoes off, carefully to avoid waking her up, and find some pills in the bathroom, as well as a glass of water. I leave the pills and the glass on the nightstand table on her side of the bed. The Capitol's hangover pills are surprisingly effective, and I think she'll need them in the morning.

At least she's warmed up the bed for me. I slip under the covers and find myself gravitating towards her.

It's been a long day, and I quickly fall asleep.

* * *

The morning sun wakes me up. I wish it hadn't. I'm dreading the day ahead, and I don't see the point in waking up before I have to.

Cashmere is already awake, though. A quick look at the nightstand table tells me she's taken the pills I laid out for her last night, which probably explains why her skin tone is almost normal, and why her eyes aren't bloodshot. As she leans closer, I discover she smells minty, like toothpaste. So she's even been to the bathroom and claimed my toothbrush while I was asleep. She's removed all the thick layers of Capitol make-up, too. She looks like a different person without it. She looks almost vulnerable. Almost.

"Good morning," she purrs.

She has also, it seems, taken off the dress she was wearing last night. And her underwear.

"Good morning," I answer. "Did you sleep well?"

She rolls her eyes. "I guess. I passed out. Thanks for the medicine. You're considerate as ever, Mellark."

"Yeah, I'm a real gentleman," I chuckle darkly.

She kisses my shoulder. I move my head to the side to give her better access to my neck. I shouldn't do this with her this time. It's confusing. I doubt Katniss would approve if she knew. But it's probably better if I don't think too much about it. Sex serves as a stress-reducing activity more than anything for both Cashmere and me, I think. And a comfort. Right now, I need both. I'd hate for whoever bought me this time to be my first release here.

But instead of her skilled hand travelling down to my boxer shorts, which I had expected, she lies down next to me without touching me. "So you didn't tell us much about this housekeeper of yours last night," she says.

"There's not much to tell," I say, but I can tell from the look on her face that she isn't convinced.

She raises an eyebrow. "If you say so." What's between us has never been love, that's an unspoken agreement. No feelings beyond friendship. Mostly.

"Have you… with her?" I can barely hear her voice. Her breath is hot in my ear, her body is pressed against mine.

I shake my head. "It's not like that between us."

"But you want it to be?"

She watches me intently, and I turn my head and look into her eyes. I could easily lie. She might even believe me. I'm used to lying. Sometimes because I have to, other times because it's simply easier. But now I know the room is bugged. It probably wouldn't matter anyway, I'm sure Snow already knows all about Katniss... and whatever we are. Still, I nod, instead of saying the words out loud.

Cashmere's blonde curls cascade over her shoulders. Here, in the morning light - almost for the first time – I can see that she's getting older. She must be around 40 now. I wonder how long the Capitol doctors will operate on her and inject things into her face and her body until Snow finally decides to retire her and leave her in peace in 1. She, Gloss and Finnick have survived in this business the longest. And to be fair, Gloss is probably only still doing it because Cashmere is his sister. She's quiet for a long time. Finally, she says: "I checked everyone's schedules."

Fuck. This can't be good.

"Diamond's scheduled with Finnick _and_ Gloss tonight."

I knew it. I knew it would happen. "Oh no," I sigh.

"It will be her first threesome. She only had to entertain individual customers in private last season."

"Is it a private show?"

Cashmere nods. That's something, at least. There will only be one person watching them, not a room full of spectators. I wonder who that one person is. He must be stinking rich if he can afford Finnick, Gloss _and_ Diamond.

There are a lot of things I could say about how fucked-up the situation is, but there's no point. It's not safe, and besides, Cashmere already knows. Instead, I try to comfort her. "You couldn't find anyone better to ease her into it. You know that, right?" She nods, but still doesn't look convinced. "Gloss is from 1. He knows her well. And Finnick is an expert at this, you know he always does everything to get his women off. He's also a genuinely good guy. Okay? He'll take care of her."

She's almost crying now. I hardly ever see her cry. "A part of me wishes it was you, Peeta. You'd be good to her." I know she says it as a compliment, and I guess I shouldn't feel grateful I'm not on Diamond's schedule, but I am. I haven't been as grateful about anything in a long time.

"You really care about her, don't you?" They are dangerous words. Caring for someone equals a weakness, something the Capitol can use against you. But her feelings are so badly hidden anyway that I'm sure Snow already knows.

"I got her out of the arena alive. And I want her to _stay_ alive."

Diamond is to Cashmere what I am to Haymitch. The child she never had. Someone Cashmere needs to protect. I wonder who else is on that list. Cashmere rarely talks about her life in 1, but I know her parents are still alive, and I think she and Gloss have a younger sister, who was never in the Hunger Games. I also know she likes running and yoga, and Gloss once mentioned that she likes to cook, but that's it. I can't say that I blame her – keeping my life in 12 separate from my life in the Capitol has been my way of surviving this, too.

Still lost in thought, I browse through the breakfast menu. "Do you want something to eat?" I ask her.

She shakes her head. "No. I should get back to my room, get dressed." She slips out of bed, and goes into the bathroom. When she comes back out, she's wearing the dress she wore last night. It's odd to see her in a fancy dress, combined with her make-up free face and her hair a chaotic mess from her sleep.

"Are you spending the day with Gloss and Diamond?"

She nods, trying to get her hair under control. "Yeah. See you tonight?" There is an unsaid word there: _after_.

"Yeah."

She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

My breakfast arrives quickly, along with the day's newspaper. I throw the paper directly into the trash. I'm not interested in reading it. After having breakfast in bed and then a long shower, I still have an hour left before I have to leave.

I look out the window at the endless traffic below. I'm on the 11th floor. The cars look like toys. I wonder where I can get toys in the Capitol? I've never had reason to buy toys here before.

Still looking out the window, I reach out for the phone on the bed stand table. I've never actually dialed the number before, but I know it by heart.

Home.

Only when Katniss answers the phone, do I realize that I haven't thought of an excuse to call her. What should I say to her? How can I even explain to myself that after Cashmere spent the night in my bed, talking to Katniss is the first thing on my mind?

Talking to Katniss on the phone is difficult. She doesn't say much, only answering direct questions. She seems so distant. When I'm at home, she's not usually that talkative, but she doesn't seem like _this_. I can't put my finger on it, but I know that something is wrong.

There are some muffled sounds that might be her crying, but trying to hide it. Is it? Am I imagining things?

I can't ask her. Instead I start talking about the garden, if she can buy some seeds and plant them out before I come home. It's the only excuse for me calling that I can come up with. I know the excuse sucks, and she'd have to be an idiot not to see through it. And Katniss Hawthorne is definitely not an idiot.

After talking about roses and plum trees, there is no more garden-related nonsense I can talk about. She's barely said a word. I hesitate, and then I realize I can't put it off any longer. "How are you doing, Katniss?" I ask.

Silence. I worry that she's going to hang up on me. Then she finally answers, "Why do you ask?"

"You just seem so… far away."

"I _am_ far away."

I don't like this. I don't like it at all. "You know what I mean."

"I'm tired, Peeta. That's all." I can barely hear her voice, she's practically whispering. She still doesn't answer my first question, but those two short sentences are answer enough. I have to force myself to keep calm. She doesn't say anything else, but I hear her breathing over the phone. Slightly irregular, too shallow. She's definitely crying now, but she's trying to hide it.

Then she hangs up.

Fuck.

I try calling back, but the phone must be off the hook.

What's going on? What's happening in 12?

* * *

My first appointment of the day isn't a customer, it's the doctor. The Capitol needs to protect its assets. In this case, it's the bodies of the Victors, and in particular our sexual organs.

I've done this so many times. I'm way past feeling embarrassed about the physical examination and the test taking. I also get an injection in the arm, making sure that another year will go by without me impregnating a customer.

"It is my understanding that your living arrangements have changed since our last appointment." Dr. Antonius looks at me through steel-framed glasses as he palpates my testicles. Great. Small-talk while a man is touching my balls is just what I need.

"Yes. I got a housekeeper."

"Does the arrangement work well?"

I shrug. "The house is certainly cleaner."

Dr. Antonius must understand from my short answer that I'm not in the mood to chit-chat. Besides, he's already sent his message, loud and clear: We're watching you. Instead, he cuts straight to the chase. I get the same questions every time. Have I had sexual intercourse since my last session in the Capitol? No. Do I get erections in the morning? Yes. Do I have orgasms when I masturbate? Yes. Have my orgasms changed? No. Has the frequency of my masturbation changed? I hesitate ever so slightly before answering "no" to that question, and I think the doctor notices, because he raises an eyebrow – but doesn't comment on it.

Last time, we discussed the issues you described of getting and maintaining an erection." I look away, clenching my jaw. "You took the drugs I prescribed for you, didn't you?" I nod.

"Do you feel like they helped?"

Hesitating slightly, I nod. I blush. I'm deeply uncomfortable discussing this with him.

"Peeta…" Dr. Antonius takes off his glasses and leans back in the chair. "There is no reason to be embarrassed or ashamed. It's perfectly normal."

"You're saying it's normal for a 31-year-old man to be impotent?"

He shakes his head. "You're not impotent, Peeta. You said so yourself that you are able to get an erection, maintain it, and have orgasms when you are touching yourself." Crap. I hate this. "You have learned some techniques, which you and the other victors use admirably, but it is not an ideal situation for you sexually. Take the fact that you are heterosexual, but sometimes must have sexual intercourse with men, for example." I raise my eyebrows at his choice of words. _Must_. He clears his throat before he speaks again. "I mean, you _have_ intercourse with men... So, the fact that you find it challenging to get aroused is to be expected, considering the circumstances. The same applies when you are having intercourse with women, although to a slightly smaller extent." He corrected himself, but we both know that I'm not doing this because I want to.

"The problem is likely to increase as you get older, and we may need to increase your dosage. Do let me know immediately if you experience any problems on the current dosage, okay? If there is a problem, we need to address it immediately." Or Dr. Antonius, too, will get into trouble with Snow.

I leave his office with two vials of pills and an assurance that I don't have any sexually transmittable diseases.

I'm ready to work.

* * *

_**So what do you think about dark!Peeta? Please review, or chat with me on Tumblr, I'm mockingjayflyingfree. Thank you to everyone who has read, favorited, bookmarked, reviewed, shared and recommended this story! I'm overwhelmed by the response to TMW. It is so inspiring!**_

_**The next chapter is written in Katniss's POV.**_


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